


A Tiger in an English Garden

by fabricdragon



Series: A Tiger in a Field of Flowers [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Developing Relationship, Kidnapping, Language of Flowers, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 04, Relationship Negotiation, Some Fluff, Tags May Change, Threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-18 13:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14214084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: follows directly after part 1 of this series:Jim Moriarty (James) sets his plans in motion to get his revenge- and Sebastian's too.  but can they work together? and how much will they change each other?NOTE: the prior works were "gen" or developing relationship. this... isn't.  its rather different.(Euros Holmes existed, but things went JUST a trifle differently at the end.)





	1. Clemantis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickie/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian gets back to England... and what happens next.  
> 

Sebastian had mostly ignored any attempts to bother him in the time he spent in Madison. He replied to all requests for information with “I already reported, I will debrief further when I get home, and I am then retiring. I have set up fail safes for my own protection.”–and that was all.

He had means to contact James when he got to England–assuming he trusted him; frankly, he didn’t trust anyone at this point. It didn’t surprise him that he was met at the airport by two men in suits that may as well have had ‘intelligence agents’ written on them. He went with them quietly, wondering if he was going to live to debrief–wondering how long he would live afterwards. They were getting into a car–armored, shaded windows, carefully nondescript in a way that was anything but nondescript–when he saw a red dot flash. He was diving for cover before he fully processed it.

The agent who had been behind him went down in a spray of blood just before the report of a gunshot reached Sebastian’s ears– _they weren’t far away, then–_ but the sound was echoing from the building and the concrete. He glanced at the downed agent– _they might live_ –and crawled over to try to help. Another shot narrowly missed him as soon as he left cover.

“They seem to be aiming at motion!” he snapped at the remaining uninjured agents.

“Get in the car!” one of them snarled. “It’s armored.”

“Fuck that.” Sebastian tapped the leg of the man near him. “Sniper’s that way,” he pointed, “judging from angle. I’ll draw him off, try to get a shot.”

“We’re supposed to retrieve you!” the man protested and then swore as Sebastian ran, low and erratically, to the cover of a pillar. A bullet just missed Sebastian’s leg, hitting the concrete and sending sharp chips flying: he felt one hit him, but only barely.

The agent did, indeed, try to follow up, calling his back up and trying to intercept the sniper. The sniper fled before they could cordon off the right area.

Sebastian spent hours repeating the truth, such as it was–he’d seen a red dot, and long years in a war zone had trained his reactions–until agents arrived with official paperwork and took him away–‘national security’ and ‘terrorist attack’ putting this firmly under MI5’s prerogative.

He was placed in a holding cell: to be fair, it was a ‘secure hospitality suite’ and had all the amenities one could ask for–but it was still a cell.

He wondered what was going on.

~

Sir Edwyn had just finished arguing, again, with the director of MI5: _YES, the attack happened on British soil; and YES, this fell under domestic terrorism; but Sebastian Moran was involved in matters of the highest security–_

_NO, you aren’t cleared to know about it! He was just returning from a highly sensitive mission…_

_No, he isn’t listed as an MI6 operative: he was still on probation! And then he was loaned out to SIS… FINE! Go ask Lady Smallwood!_

He got out his headache pills and took two with a swig of cold coffee. He began to see Mycroft’s point of view on all of this– _God, this was miserable_ –and somehow two of his agents were involved in this without his authorization. _Damn Love to hell!_

She wasn’t returning his calls, undoubtedly trying to find some way to spin this neatly, and Mycroft was apparently taking a week off– _a week?! And I’d been trying to get him to take two DAYS off just recently_ –for personal health reasons.

He got into his car and directed the driver to take him to lady Smallwood’s. He was sitting in the back, going over paperwork for the Prime Minister’s briefing, when the bomb flipped the car into the air.

~

Lady Smallwood was trying to speak reason to the younger Holmes when her aide came into the room, a rather tense expression on his face.

“Who has been killed?” Sherlock Holmes asked calmly. _If he was only a bit more politic, he could have replaced his brother,_ she thought.

“Uh,” he looked at her and she nodded, “Sir Edwyn, ma’am: either a car bomb or a road bomb that got his car; they’re still finding all the pieces.”

Sherlock Holmes stood up and walked over to his coat. “You said my brother retreated into his home from some improperly handled business?”

“That is not quite how I put it, but yes.”

“Do I take it Sir Edwyn was involved?”

“We… all were, although not all of us equally.”

“Then I advise you to double your security, Lady Smallwood. I will go speak to my brother but, as I already stated, we are not on good terms.”

“You are the only one I can be certain he will actually answer the door for,” she admitted tiredly. “He’s not answering his phone or his doorbell.”

He just looked at her. She knew he judged her and her fellows for their role in… well, in everything; she supposed it was fair. She nodded, “Mister Holmes,” and left Baker Street.

Her car had been joined by an escort car and, as the second in line for the intelligence committee, she was escorted to the emergency center.

She managed to call Equinox on route. “Porlock was killed.”

“I was just informed.”

“I asked the younger Holmes to intervene with Antarctica. I’m being taken to SIS control, can you please go debrief Mister Moran?”

A resigned sigh, “Of course.”

She hoped his brother was able to get Mycroft straightened out soon.

~

Sebastian had been ensconced in his rather polite prison for less than a day when there was a knock at the door, followed by a guard stepping in. “There is someone here to debrief you now. Can you please get dressed and knock on the door when you are ready?”

“Now is fine.” Sebastian stood up. He’d made a point of getting dressed once he was up: _never knew when you might have to go somewhere, after all._

They went down a hallway. Sebastian noted exits– _all guarded_ –windows– _likely bulletproof and sealed_ –and several more guards. He was shown into a small conference room where the Bland Man from his initial interview–and several annoying phone calls–was seated.

“Coffee, Mister Moran?”

Sebastian stood calmly at parade rest. “No, thank you.”

The man looked a bit uneasy and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt unnecessarily. “I regret that the others are not here at the moment.”

“Why aren’t they?”

“Security concerns,” he said pleasantly, and Sebastian was certain that he was hiding something. “After the attempt on you at the airport, security has been heightened.”

“Ah. Well?”

“Won’t you sit down?”

Sebastian considered standing on principle but eventually sat down: Bland Man looked relieved– _he’s afraid of me?_

“I would like you to go over the events as you recall them, please.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him. “Beginning when?”

“Errr… wherever you feel is appropriate? We are recording, of course.”

“Very well… I was discharged from the military because my superior officers needed a scapegoat after I’d been doing their dirty work for years; I was kicked around MI6 because they didn’t want to let me out into civilian life and possibly talk; then I was loaned out to you three to get killed. You three lied to me, and then you harassed me once I was in Wisconsin in an attempt to leak my identity and whereabouts to your mole. After several days, I got fed up with the harassment and went to dinner where I met James Steersman–who was your Moriarty lookalike.

“He managed a flower shop. I was doing the job I had been given when two MI6 agents who had been told the truth, apparently, came in and blew the entire situation to hell. I already gave the details to Pri–I think his name is Holmes, from what the MI6 agent said…” He shrugged. “I ended up having to get rid of three bodies and clean up a lot of evidence; luckily, it turns out that flower shops with sealed floors and drains and lots of bleach are excellent places to do just that.”

Sebastian had watched the increasing panic in the man’s eyes, despite his attempts to stay calm, and decided he was simply fed up with it. “So… I did your job, even after you lied to me and tried to get me killed; I turned in my notice and still reported in to debrief; are you going to kill me now or wait until I’m back out in the civilian world and arrange an accident?” he paused slightly, “and as I said: I have fail safes in place in the event of my death.”

“Uh… well… uh… that isn’t…” the man stuttered a lot. “We were not trying to get you killed Mister Moran. Por–Sir Edwyn selected you, and the impression he gave of you didn’t exactly match…”

“Poor Sir Edwyn?” Sebastian frowned.

“That… isn’t what I…” He adjusted his tie rather worriedly. “While not what I meant, yes, I suppose he is: he was murdered a few hours ago.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened and then he stared at the man: _no, far too poor a liar to fake that._ “The head of MI6… was murdered? How?!”

“Car bomb. I haven’t been filled in on the details.” He gulped. “It’s the reason security is so–”

Sebastian stood up. “I was targeted as soon as I got here, and the man who sent me was killed today? One of the most heavily protected men in London, in fact?”

“Yes…?”

“So of course, only one of you is here… security…” _They had to separate so no one could get them all at once…_ _James… that brilliant man, it had to be James._ “I’m afraid I HAVE to insist on being let go immediately.”

“What?” his mouth dropped open. “Why?!”

“If someone can get at Sir Edwyn like that? And I’m already a target? I’m a sitting duck–and you OBVIOUSLY have a mole: you were worried about it before.”

“Oh, but… this is a safe–”

Sebastian cut him off: “So was Sir Edwyn’s car, I’m sure. I’d rather take my own chances.”

“Sir?” one of the unobtrusive guards–he hadn’t seen this one before: he must have come in with Bland Man–spoke up. “What if he was taken to one of the well-off-the-books safe houses? It’s slightly less comfortable,” the guard looked apologetic at Sebastian, “but much less known.”

“That… might do well…” Bland Man said, looking relieved, “at least until this gets settled and Mister… and one of my coworkers can handle it.”

The guard stepped forward: he had a military bearing about him, which made Sebastian feel a bit better, but many of the MI6 people had military backgrounds as well. “Colonel? Would you come with me?” The guard tapped his chest…

He was wearing a rather peculiar floral boutonniere–not the usual carnation, but… _something you would see… in a garden?_

Sebastian nodded slowly, “I will agree to that, although under protest: I would prefer to take my own chances.” He looked pointedly at Bland Man, “I have no reason to trust you.”

“Yes, well…” He took out his handkerchief and fussed with it. “Thank you… As soon as things settle down, we will call you back in, and I’m certain my fellows can resolve this to your satisfaction.”

“I doubt it.” Sebastian turned and walked out. “Can I pack?” he asked the guard.

He shook his head. “Better not to: might be traceable,” he said apologetically. “If someone got a tracker on you at any point…”

He escorted him out and down and finally to a car. “We will be changing cars, of course,”

“Oh, naturally.”

He drove them around in circles for a while, and then into a warehouse garage where there was another car with tinted glass, a new driver, and a complete change of clothes. Sebastian stripped while being watched with hard eyes by the new driver.

“Nothing comes with you,” the new man said; he was wearing the same flower in his lapel.

“Understood.” He stood with his arms in plain sight while they put his old clothes, watch, shoes, and everything into the trunk of the original car. The back door was held open for him and he was driven away.


	2. Walnut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Mycroft have a talk

Sherlock didn’t bother to knock–he simply let himself in past Mycroft’s security. He found him sitting in front of the fireplace with a book; the house was fairly dark except for his reading light. It gave him a rather spooky air, much like one of those old films– _probably subconscious, but just like him._

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said quietly without looking up. “I assume they sent you to fetch me along for some reason.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m retiring.”

 _He can’t be serious… He is?!_ “You?! You can’t retire… the lack of control would drive you mad in a week!”

Mycroft laughed bitterly, “A bit late. I haven’t had control over anything, really, in quite some time, I just thought I did.”

Sherlock sat down in the secondary chair–the fact that it was in shadow rather appealed to both of their dramatic streaks.

“Seriously? What triggered this?”

“I wanted to retire years ago, Sherlock, you know that.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You said you did, but you enjoyed it too much.” Sherlock paused. “Our parents will calm down over time.”

“No, they won’t.”

“She… I’m still angry about your hiding things from me, but–”

“I did nothing of the sort: you hid them from yourself.” Mycroft put the book down. “Moriarty is alive.”

“Is he?”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“I don’t think he is–I just want to know why YOU think so.”

“The body we autopsied? The face was damaged by the gun shot–we didn’t know until you debriefed later that it shouldn’t have been; in addition, the fingerprints matched the prints we had on file… except that they don’t match my memories.”

Sherlock felt a chill despite the fireplace. “What do you mean?”

“When we took his fingerprints in interrogation, he had small scars on the fingertips of his left hand…”

“They could have healed in the intervening time…” Sherlock frowned.

“We compared the body’s fingerprints to the interrogation file–or Lady Smallwood did; I had nothing to do with any of it since I was handling your situation–and they matched: no scars–not on the body, OR the file.”

Sherlock sat back, mind spinning. “But all the videos were old…”

“No question.”

“The body you autopsied was not him, but that doesn’t mean he survived–it could have been set up by Euros for some plot of hers, or she expected you to check when you saw the videos…”

“Possible, and of course we can’t find out now.”

“Why… Why do you say he’s alive? What has happened?”

“A man matching his description was seen: it’s why I began looking into it. We sent…” Mycroft looked up at Sherlock and sighed, “I was terrified for you–I’m always terrified for you.”

Sherlock sat back and steepled his fingers. “You overreacted?”

“Possibly…” he sighed and admitted, “Yes, we all did, except… You fail to understand how much damage to my authority and status recent events have caused. There was a time when I could have managed this myself–but now?”

Sherlock considered, mind spinning ahead. Mycroft sat quietly, sipping at a drink.

“You tried to have a reasonable response–although likely overreacting–and the others handled most of it… and they did a poor job.”

“A terrible job,” Mycroft agreed. “Someone who was supposed to be an erratic and disposable pawn–used for bait–turned out to be anything but; the actual agents were poorly chosen by Lady Smallwood–if I had known who she sent I would have said something but… I wasn’t…”

“You were believed to be too personally involved,” Sherlock sighed, “and they didn’t trust your judgement.”

“Precisely.”

“All dead?”

“The disposable agent–Colonel Moran–survived. I wanted to hire him once I met him, but now he’s furious. He covered things up admirably.”

“Are you sure he didn’t kill everyone?”

“No.” Mycroft sighed. “As I have gone over his phone report, there were… what may have been discrepancies. I am certain that one of the two agents provoked him… that was inevitable, and he admitted as much. I suspect that the target and one agent died of mismanagement… but I think he killed the other agent.”

“Obviously he wasn’t Moriarty, so who was he?”

“A body double, apparently. At least, that’s what the Colonel said he was babbling under the interrogation drugs.” Mycroft sighed. “I have no reason to doubt that: Wisconsin did seem an unlikely place.”

“What?”

“He was managing a flower shop, apparently, in Wisconsin.”

Sherlock started laughing and couldn’t stop. “Oh, that’s TOO funny!” he gasped finally. “Moriarty? Running a flower shop in Wisconsin?!”

Mycroft smiled faintly, “Well, we only knew he was seen in Wisconsin–the photo looked convincing–near the university.”

“Still unlikely, but marginally more possible.” He tilted his head. “So where is this Colonel who was supposed to be a disposable agent?”

“I have no idea–he should have returned to London by now… I couldn’t bear being blamed by one more person who had cause for it–he was quite hostile on the phone… and yes, I deserved it.”

Sherlock got out a phone immediately; as soon as Lady Smallwood answered, he said, “Where is the Colonel? Your agent?”

“He was supposed to be in MI6 custody, but was taken into MI5 custody after someone tried to assassinate him at the airport. Equinox is going to go interview him and–”

Sherlock hung up.

“It is not Moriarty, but it may be one of his men following orders–that was the problem last time, after all.”

“What do you mean?” _What orders? What happened?_

“Your agent is in MI5 custody after a failed assassination attempt at the airport.”

“What!?”

“He was supposed to be in MI6 custody of course, but the attempt was public enough to cause a jurisdiction dispute.” Sherlock nodded slowly.

Mycroft winced and put down his drink. “This will simply cause the man to become less cooperative, of course.”

“In addition, Sir Edwyn was killed by a car bomb while Lady Smallwood was trying to convince me to come get you”

“What?!” Mycroft stared at him– _truth_ –“Why didn’t you say that immediately?!”

Sherlock shrugged, “I wanted to know what was going on?”

Mycroft was cursing vehemently in his head as he got his phone and put the battery back in. He called Elizabeth as he went upstairs to get dressed. “Sherlock just told me–I’ll be in shortly.”

“Crescent is handling military security: so far it’s all calm on that side of things–”

“Good, but once other nations find out that our head of MI6 was killed it won’t be,” Mycroft said grimly as he quickly changed clothes and packed an overnight bag–he probably wouldn’t be home again for a while. “Where is Colonel Moran?”

“In MI5 custody. I sent Equinox to debrief him and try to calm things down.”

Mycroft groaned, “You two were the ones causing him issues on the mission–why do you think he can calm things down?”

“He’s always been very–”

“Not since prison, Elizabeth! And Colonel Moran frightened him–couldn’t you tell?”

“What?”

 _Goldfish_! “Colonel Moran is a large, combat capable man with anger issues–it was clearly bothering him in the interview. It likely is triggering some aspect of PTSD from troubles in prison.”

“Oh, no… I hadn’t noticed… but we didn’t have anyone else cleared!”

“I’ll be in shortly.”

He went downstairs to find that Sherlock was standing with his coat back on. “I… will assist.” He shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. “I don’t have any important cases anyway–nothing worth my time.”

Mycroft was touched. “Thank you, that will be… helpful.”

“Were you close to Sir Edwyn?”

“No… suspected him of leaking information, actually.” Mycroft shrugged. “You know how spies are.”

“Ah, well then, time to look for a more reliable replacement.”

“Yes.” _And for myself, as well._


	3. Alstroemeria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Moriarty (James) and Sebastian Moran finally get back together and talk...

They changed cars twice more, although only the last switch had a new driver: he was wearing the same floral boutonniere, but was much friendlier.

“The best place to get noodles is just around that corner,” the driver said chattily–he’d been pointing out food and shopping all along the route–“and here you are!”

“Wish I could tip you, but I don’t have a wallet right now,” Sebastian admitted.

“It’s alright!” He waved pleasantly and drove away, leaving Sebastian on the street. There was a basket of flowers on the door he’d been left in front of: Sebastian smiled at the mix of whatever flower the boutonniere was, plus Foxgloves and Aconite. He went in quickly, wary of any CCTV cameras.

“Kitchen!” called a familiar voice.

Sebastian walked back toward the voice and looked around: the place was rich and had obviously been empty–the kind of rich that was a magazine photo or a showroom for sale–except there was a box of books, recently opened… and some eerily familiar comforters on the sofa. _I think I saw at least one of those on a recliner not too long ago._

As he walked into the dining room–and the furniture alone was worth more than he cared to think about–he noticed a centerpiece that seemed entirely out of place with the expensive furniture: more of the flowers from the front door.

James walked out of the kitchen with a tray. “I ordered in.” He looked him up and down. “You did seem to like Persian?” James Steersman–American florist–was almost completely gone: in his place was a man wearing casual clothes that were unmistakably British… and the kind of casual that probably costs more than most flat rents.

“You… look different.”

James smiled that same crooked grin, “Not really–and you look just as delightful as you did before.”

“I wasn’t aware that I looked delightful?”

“To me, anyway. So, do you like Persian food?”

“Yes…”

“Good, because that’s what I ordered. Do sit down.” He walked back into the kitchen and came out with more food, promptly vanished back again and came out with two wine glasses, held casually between his fingers, and a bottle. “I thought you were fascinating then… but… well,” he shrugged, “you were hunting me.”

“True.” He glanced at the food and at James rather expertly uncorking the wine. “If you are planning on drugging me, can you just tell me?”

“A lot of trouble to go to to drug you when I could have had the sniper HIT you after all?”

 _So it had been his sniper? And he wasn’t trying to hit me?_ Sebastian considered that carefully. “You might want to interrogate me,” Sebastian said thoughtfully.

James smiled over pouring the wine and it was… it was a smile that was dark, and vicious; Sebastian shivered faintly and tried to pretend it wasn’t fascinating. “I might,” James admitted, “but why ruin the flavor of a good meal?”

“To your health,” Sebastian murmured politely as James indicated to begin. “Seriously, though…”

“I’m not going to drug you,” he said as he sipped the wine. “I would say I’m sorry I drugged you before, but I’m not.”

“I suppose it was… I suppose at the time it was self-defense.” Sebastian sighed. He took a sip of the wine– _excellent._ “Thank you for putting the towel under my neck?” _I still have no idea why he bothered._

James nodded regally: it was almost funny. Sebastian took a few bites: it was excellent food, although not as good as the restaurant in Wisconsin; he commented on that.

“It is odd, isn’t it? There are a lot of interesting places to eat in Madison.” James shrugged, “No one thinks about it, or expects it: they just hear ‘Wisconsin’ and picture dairy farms.”

“It was certainly not what I expected.”

“That’s why I liked it there,” James looked a bit melancholy. “It seemed so unlikely anyone would spot me…”

Sebastian didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just ate quietly.

“So,” he said after he’d eaten his dinner–and had a glass of wine that was stunningly perfect with the meal–“what now?”

“That’s what we decide.”

“I get some say in it?”

“I owe you,” James nodded.

“Then let’s start by dealing with the past: unresolved issues have bitten me before.”

“Alright…” James cocked his head. “I admit to some curiosity about your involvement with this–you told me some, but I haven’t had a lot of time to look you up: been a bit busy.”

 _Busy…“_ You killed Sir Edwin?”

“Indirectly, but yes–he had enemies other than myself: I assisted them in removing him.”

“He chose me for the mission, apparently personally from what I was told.”

“All the more reason to get rid of him.”

“I’m not complaining.” Sebastian said slowly, “but it’s going to cause chaos on the international level–and a good bit on the national… oh, you bastard…” Sebastian breathed. “That’s why! I realized you’d managed to separate the three I talked to–security precautions–but…”

James sat back and almost purred, “I just quadrupled their work load. They’ll be far, far too busy to do anything more than deal with the mess, and it will make it much easier to get things arranged.”

“Won’t they be on higher alert?”

“Certainly, but look at it this way: you are attacked, and after you get whisked off to safety, the head of MI6, the man you reported to, is killed. If you have any other targets in MI6 we can take them out as well and it looks like it’s all aimed at MI6.” He sipped his wine and smiled. “But you, of course, are completely innocent…”

“Oh, that’s… that’s elegant.” Sebastian could see it. “The failed sniper attack was a setup to ‘prove’ I couldn’t be involved…”

“And you were in custody when Sir Edwyn was killed…” James chuckled. “Even if they think somehow the terrible Moriarty is behind it–and most of them won’t–you couldn’t possibly be in league with me.” James sat forward. “And then we can pick them off one by one.”

“We?”

“You also had some interests in revenge, I believe.”

“True.” Sebastian chewed his lip and studied the man. “Are you looking for a hired gun, then? Or are we in this together?”

“I had rather hoped for a more… mutual arrangement.” James looked speculatively at him. “I never had a partner before, but… we both have personal involvement here.”

“Then… as far as revenge or killing people: I need to think about it, and to do that I need more information.”

“I knew I liked you.” _Intelligence was always so very sexy._

“There are MI6 personnel I want payback on–and a few I want left alone–but as to the nameless? I need to know more–you seem to know far more about them than I do.” Sebastian swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. “Prissy Vest Man seemed… better than the others.”

James looked intently at him–there was a hesitance about the man that looked familiar… “Why, Colonel… did Mister Homes manage to get your,” he smirked, “attention?”

Sebastian looked up. “He was the only one who gave me any warning, and the only one that seemed inclined to treat me like I was… worthwhile. That’s pretty attractive.”

“Well, I can’t fault your taste,” James allowed. “I had an obsession with his baby brother for ages, and…” He chuckled, “Well, I admit I wanted to mess the man up a bit–all buttoned up in his three piece suits.” He shrugged. “He’s the most dangerous of them, though.”

Sebastian sighed, “Intelligent and dangerous–well, there’s my type in a nutshell.”

“So you are attracted to me?” James teased, not expecting a serious answer.

Sebastian sat back. “Oh, yes…” He took in the startled look on James face and smiled, “I was attracted to you before, but… there was a pretty high likelihood I was going to have to kill you–it made it awkward.” He shrugged, “We were both playing a role.”

James nodded slowly. “I found you interesting–and was hoping I could convince you to work for me–but blackmail and threats and so on make for rather dangerous bed partners… not worth the risk.” He considered. “Would you be interested now?”

“Probably?” Sebastian let his eyes drift over the man. “I don’t actually know you very well, other than that you’re bloody brilliant.”

James laughed, “Well, that’s MOST of it–I’m bloody brilliant!”

“You certainly aren’t hard on the eyes, either, but…” Sebastian considered carefully. “I do have a few concerns from your file…” Jim made a “go on” gesture. “Did you actually kidnap and poison the ambassador’s kids?”

“Sort of?” James shrugged. “The ambassador owed me big time, and the kids weren’t as much at risk as people think–they mostly got scared.”

“If I’m involved–personally or professionally–nothing with kids,” he said firmly.

“No?”

“No.”

James sucked in his lower lip and thought. “What if they’re bullying assholes?”

“If it’s worse than just clueless kids? Maybe… I admit I knew some pretty vicious kids in school, but…” He looked up and held eye contact. “Your public track record doesn’t encourage me to trust your judgement.”

“I hate kids,” James shrugged and sat back, “hate them…” he hesitated, “at least most of them. I met a few that were okay in Madison.”

“Why?”

“Not your business.”

“You want us to work together, you want me to trust your judgement on killing people–people I am supposed to be in service to, in some cases–and possibly have a relationship? I think I need to understand what you’re made of.”

“Snips and snails and puppy dogs tails…” James almost sang, “that’s what most little boys are made of. I’m made of vengeance and hatred and brains.”

Sebastian considered that. “Kids hurt you?”

James froze. _Damn, he was much smarter than I was used to_. “You… I don’t know much about you, what makes you tick?”

“I keep looking for loyalty, and getting thrown under the bus.” He shrugged. “Simple enough. As to my personal life? I’m bisexual–well, pansexual really–but military life doesn’t make it easy to be anything but straight.” He considered. “I like what I do–I’m good at it. I enjoy being a soldier, a sniper, killing people… hunting people.” He sighed slightly, “Funny, they want you to do things, and be good at doing them, but they don’t want you to like it…”

“Most people are idiots.”

“Yup.” He looked back at James. “So… just to be clear: if we do get involved… I don’t mind being broken up with, but betray my trust and I will kill you. I’m beyond tired of it.”

James smirked, “Not a problem. So, you like killing people professionally–always a good trait in my book. In bed? What are you into?” Jim looked him over thoughtfully. _It could be very good, or very bad–but risk was always a turn on…_

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “No tact, I see.”

“If we’re incompatible I want to know now and save time.” James shrugged.

“Alright…” He considered. “I haven’t had an opportunity to explore much as far as kink goes. I know I don’t like it when the girl is sloppy drunk, or out of it–just lying there. I haven’t been able to be with a man lately, but it was pretty much the same.” He shrugged. “I know danger and intelligence turn me on. What are YOU into?”

“I don’t actually care much about sex, per se,” he said thoughtfully, “although sex can be good… I like intelligence and risk, I like a challenge,” he grinned, “and hasn’t that gotten me in trouble before. I like power games… hmm… I haven’t had penetrative sex with a man in a long time, so if we do that I would want to be on top.”

Sebastian looked at him thoughtfully. “What about blow jobs?”

“I’ll blow your poor, sheltered mind.” James licked his lips in an almost campy gesture–it was still hot. “I assume you had a recent blood test, what with MI6 and the military?”

He nodded, “Can’t show it to you, but it’s on file somewhere.”

James waved his hand dismissively, “If it’s in their computers, I can get it. I had one last month, but it wasn’t the complete work up.” He tilted his head. “I’ve had some things in the past but… clear test results for years now.”

Sebastian’s libido–having finally got the news–started kicking into high gear. “Probably better to be safe.”

James sat forward, watching the man; he trailed a finger around the rim of his glass suggestively. “Do I take it you don’t mind exploring our options tonight?”

“I could use the stress relief, actually… and, as I said, you are interesting. Will it hurt our working relationship if this doesn’t work out?”

“No.” James dipped a finger in his water glass and ran it around the edge of his wine glass–the sound was eerie. “I worked with an ex before–in fact, I’ll probably need to get him involved.” He looked up, “Will it be a problem with you? Working with an ex of mine? Or… dealing with people I’m interested in?” _Jealousy could derail this fast._

“I don’t think so… Just…”

“Just?”

 _Best to get this out in the open._ “I’m aggressive and I really like sex. I can do without–have for a while–but if I have a partner, or partners, well…” he spread his hands. “I broke up with a girl once because she wanted us to be exclusive but she couldn’t keep up.”

“Intriguing…” James looked him over. “What if I don’t want it that much?”

“Are you alright with my having someone on the side if you don’t?” He was acutely aware of just HOW much he wanted it–it had been far too long.

“If needed–and their security checks out–certainly,” James nodded and then grinned. “I admit, you intrigue me. I’ve only met a few other men who captured my interest more, and that was… more cerebral.”

“My interests are far from cerebral,” Sebastian grinned. _So he’d been into Sherlock Holmes… and Prissy Vest Man? Wouldn’t that be an interesting_ … Sebastian dragged his mind out of the fantasy gutter and back to the current one. “Would you be willing to try it with me on top sometime?”

James paused and looked at him, all trace of humor gone, then very slowly he nodded. “We’d have to have some extensive discussions first: bad history.”

Sebastian nodded and dropped it. “Something for later when we know each other better.”

James forced the serious look off of his face and laughed, “Well… looks like I put in the wrong supplies! Here I was worried about sniper rifles and ammunition and I should have been worried about condoms and lube.”

“Did… you say sniper rifles?” Sebastian leaned forward and his eyes lit up.

 _He shows far more interest in killing than sex. Oh, we ARE going to get along._ “I did. As it happens, the sniper rifle and batch of ammo that was used to not hit you? is waiting for you: after all, if you shoot someone with it, it COULDN’T be you, right? Not since you were the target last time…”

“James… you are a brilliant, evil, wonderful man. I’d buy you flowers but I don’t know what to get an evil genius florist.”


	4. Dog Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets back to work~Sherlock Holmes starts digging into MI6~Sebastian and James get MUCH better acquainted~Sherlock heads back to Mycroft's office.  
> aka  
> plot~plot~smut and nothing but~plot

Mycroft got into his office to find that his assistants had managed to keep things contained, so far–for which he was inordinately grateful. They all looked as though they were one step removed from sheer panic, however, and the sighs of relief as Mycroft came in were quite audible…

…followed by at least one groan as Sherlock came in after him.

Mycroft handed Sherlock the information he had on Colonel Moran and told him to “Find the rest of it”, which freed him up to get ahead of the chaos following the assassination of their–public–intelligence head.

Sometime later, Sherlock went out; Mycroft noted it and told one of his people to keep an eye on him, and went back to work.

~

Sherlock Holmes was always impressed by just how much access working with his brother allowed him. An official driver and identification–genuine, this time–identifying him as Mycroft Holmes’ personal agent permitted him access to MI6–even in the middle of the assassination crisis.

Pulling Sebastian Moran’s unredacted files took less than two hours, most of which was spent finding someone who knew where they were. Reading them through, Sherlock became increasingly alarmed, and then… confused.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Sherlock muttered. He looked up at the assistant who had been assigned to him. “Find me someone in MI6 that worked with Colonel Moran.”

“No one really worked with him, sir; he was a trainee–on probation.”

“Then find me anyone who dealt with him.” He waved the man off and started digging into Sir Edwyn’s personal files. _Even more problematic than he thought…_

Sherlock ended up interviewing five people who had dealt with Sebastian Moran: three who clearly despised the man and were happy to have him gone, one who was more or less neutral, and one who seemed to like him. The three who disliked him ranged in reasoning: dishonorable discharge, too full of himself, questioned too much­; Sherlock noted it and moved on. The neutral man admitted that Moran was, in fact, highly confident and questioned a great deal, but, as he pointed out, the man was new, the rules were different; besides, he really WAS that good as a sniper and a hunter.

“Did he have any training in urban surveillance?”

“Moran? God, no. He was fresh out of the military: Afghanistan and Pakistan, as far as I know.”

Sherlock nodded, thanked him, and called in the fellow who seemed to like him. He was interesting: Sherlock could relate to him rather well since he was in chemistry. Apparently he and Moran had bonded over discussions of IEDs and improvised weapons–as well as the idiocy of most field commanders regarding chemical warfare.

Eventually, Sherlock packed everything up–including a copy of the unredacted file, which he was certain wasn’t supposed to leave the building–and went back to Mycroft’s office.

~

James had to admit that watching Sebastian Moran lovingly strip and reassemble a sniper rifle was insanely hot. The man handled a gun the way poets described women–lovingly caressing each piece with cleaners and oils, stroking it, frowning over any damage, and all but kissing it.

After a while, James finally said, “Okay, I give up. If you’re doing that to turn me on, it worked; if not, I don’t care, it worked.”

“What?” Sebastian looked up… James was practically panting. “Like guns?” Sebastian teased.

“I never thought of them as sexy before, no… they’re just good tools. Damn, that was hot: are you that good with your hands with people?”

Sebastian put the rifle away in its case and stood up, stretching. “Why don’t you find out?”

James walked off to the bedroom, trying to get himself back under control. He was torn between wanting to let the man do that to him–lovingly take him apart, oil him and pet him–and wanting to hold him down and prove just who was in charge here.

He shivered a bit when Sebastian was suddenly behind him in the bedroom: he hadn’t heard him come up.

Sebastian turned James to face him. “You haven’t had someone who knew who they were dealing with in a long time, have you?”

“No…” Jim started to answer more and then Sebastian put his hand under his chin, tipped his head back and kissed him. It was… there was no force, really, but it was insistent. James had the feeling he could have pulled away, turned his head, done something… except that he found himself digging his fingers into Sebastian’s shirt and pulling him in closer.

James bit at Sebastian’s lip, and Sebastian just chuckled and moved one hand down his back. The next thing James knew, he was being picked up and held against Sebastian’s body as he moved them onto the bed. He’d turned somehow so that James ended up sitting on top of him–it should have felt like James was in control, but it really didn’t.

Sebastian started working with his tongue and mouth down James’ neck. “I want to just eat you alive, you know?”

“I… could get behind that…” James gasped and reached out for the bedside table.

Sebastian pulled him away and down on top of him on the bed. “I don’t even have you undressed yet.”

“If you keep this up, it won’t matter.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere…” Sebastian let him go and James rather hurriedly started to strip and put his clothes aside. Sebastian lay there, fully clothed, watching him avidly.

“You better get out of those clothes, because until we get you more clothing that’s all you have…” James growled at him, “and I might just cut it off you.”

“Oh? Guess I’d just have to pad around the house naked until you bought me more…” Sebastian smirked. He sat up just enough to peel off his top, tossing it aside casually before laying back and raising his hips off the bed–showing off the muscle tone as he slipped his trousers and pants off. He lay back on the bed and spread his arms out. “I believe I heard you say you wanted to be on top? How do you want me?”

James laughed, “Well, I know one way to get that smug look off your face…”

“Nah, I think the smug look comes standard,” Sebastian commented and then stopped, startled, as James moved onto the bed and took him rather firmly in hand.

It had been far too long, but damned if he was going to let Sebastian set the pace… James didn’t need to do anything to get the man hard, so he just lowered his head and put his mouth to work. The sound of Sebastian’s head falling back and hitting the headboard made him smile.

He was pleased that Sebastian kept from controlling his head: his hands kept reaching up to grab at James’ hair but he refrained from pulling his head down.

Sebastian desperately struggled to keep from interfering. _Do I tell Rembrandt how to paint_? He managed to think in a moment of clarity as he forced his hands away from the back of James’ head. _God, this was… he was…_ James did something to Sebastian’s balls that felt wonderful almost to the point of pain and he arched off the bed and up into James’ mouth as he came.

Sebastian lay there with spots dancing in front of his vision and finally focused on James sitting astride his legs, looking like the proverbial cat who ate the proverbial canary.

“You… were not bluffing,” Sebastian managed to say finally.

“Not about that…” James grinned wickedly. “So? Reach into that bedside drawer and pass me the lube and condoms.”

“Yes, SIR…” Sebastian got them out rather hurriedly. “If you’re half as good at anything else as you are at that? You have my complete attention!”

“Always good when a man knows his place…” James snickered. “But I do expect to find out if you can… field strip me as well as that rifle.”

Sebastian grinned, “Wanna find out?”

“Yes, but later; for right now, I feel like screwing British Intelligence…” James smirked, “or it’s nearest representative.” James gestured for him to roll over.

“I would rather see your face, but if that’s what you want…?”

“For now,” James nodded. _I’ve already lost control of this far too much._

Sebastian rolled over and arched up onto his hands and knees, back muscles on full display.

“Show off.” James laughed and touched his lubricated finger to his crack, sliding it down until he found the man’s entrance…

Sebastian couldn’t help but gasp as a finger breached him and moved–he hadn’t done this in years and it was intense and… frankly he had a bit of nerves. Jim’s other hand moved between his legs and… _Oh, dear GOD he was good at this._

“Just relax…” James purred as he… _Oh, that was another finger_ …

“Easy for you to say,” Sebastian panted.

“Yeah…” He could picture the crooked grin on the man’s face.

“How about if I add a bit of incentive?” James sounded rather wicked–almost threatening–and then there were two sensations at once: he was stretched almost painfully and he felt fingers pushing into him too hard, too fast… and there was a feeling like lightning arcing up his spine straight to his brain… he could barely breathe and his body twisted and arched without thinking.

James had pushed his fingers in hard and found JUST the right spot at the same time as his other hand stroked Sebastian firmly and then held him back. He pulled a rising moan out of him that ended in a quaver as he shook and twisted around James’ fingers.

“Not yet, ‘Tiger’,” James growled at him. “It’s MY turn.” Having someone this powerful, this muscled, held in his hands–completely unable to resist? _God, this was a turn on._ Jim pulled his fingers out–a desperate noise escaped Sebastian–and quickly slicked a condom onto himself.

He pushed his thumb into the man. “Open up the door and let me in…” he almost sang. Sebastian tried, desperately panting and twitching in James’ other hand. James pulled his thumb out and pushed himself in.

Sebastian felt certain that James wasn’t that big, but he felt like it was impossible, like he was being forced apart and _Dear GOD, if he didn’t loosen his grasp on the base of my…_ “Nnng!”

“It’s all…” James panted and then pushed in, angling for that one spot… “in… how you… USE it.”

Sebastian arched up off the bed until his back was against James’ chest… he needed relief, needed more, and James felt absolutely wonderful and too much and… then the bastard let go.

James let go of his grip and moved his hand up, pulling Sebastian’s hips down while thrusting up aiming for that spot one… last…

Sebastian damn near screamed and came… and clenched around James, almost collapsing backwards onto him.

James had been holding off his own orgasm by a force of will and that… was perfection.

When Sebastian managed to come back down, he was laying on his side–James just slipping out of him.

“God…!” Sebastian breathed.

“In the privacy of my own–”

“Don’t you dare!”

James snickered. “So… I say we clean up and maybe get a bite more to eat… and then we can prioritize a few murders.”

~

The car carrying Sherlock Holmes pulled slowly out of MI6 parking into the streetlights of late night London. The car ahead of them– _someone working late to deal with the crisis, probably_ –wobbled slightly.

Five possibilities flashed through Sherlock’s mind and he grabbed the steering wheel from the driver’s hands and spun it hard. “Go! Now!”

The driver stepped on the gas pedal even as he turned his head to ask…

The bullet missed him by inches.


	5. Peony

Mycroft took the call in a distracted fashion. “Sherlock? That took you longer than I expected–”

Sherlock’s drawl would have sounded casual to anyone else: to Mycroft it belied intense nerves. “Yes, well, someone was shooting at people as we left the MI6 secure parking.”

Mycroft felt like his heart stuttered, but tried to keep his voice calm. “You are unharmed, I trust. Was this aimed at you or…?”

“They killed the driver of the car ahead of us–an analyst leaving the building–and the aim seemed to be for the drivers, so it wouldn’t have hit me in any case… so no, not aimed at me.”

 _Thank God_. “Did you find anything?”

“Quite a bit, none of it good news.”

“Ah… hmmm…” Mycroft looked longingly at his scotch and instead said, “A long night, then. Bring the information here immediately.”

~

They were going over targets–and non-targets–at MI6 when a sound from James’ laptop made him look up. He went over to check on it and then…

It was a fascinating and somewhat terrifying transformation.

“WHAT?!” The pleasant florist was a distant memory… the sexy and smirking tease was gone… what was left was someone who screamed one word and then went devastatingly quiet with a scowl on his face that promised someone was going to die.

Sebastian wasn’t entirely certain whether he liked it or not–this side of James–but he had to admit it wasn’t boring. After James had been reading–and swearing very quietly under his breath–for a few minutes, Sebastian cleared his throat.

“Yes?”

“What’s the problem and can I shoot it?”

“The problem is someone tried to shoot people at MI6 and almost got the most wrong target imaginable–also, I have no idea why he was at MI6.”

“One of your people?”

“I barely have any of my people, and none of them are that stupid,” James snorted. “No, I’m not sure who, but apparently someone shot at cars leaving the secure lot: one killed, lots of panic.”

“The ‘most wrong target imaginable’? One of mine?”

“No. Sherlock Holmes.”

“That… the detective? And Prissy Vest Man’s brother, you said?”

James snickered–the threat of explosions seemed to have passed–“Yes, Mycroft’s insanely annoying and much prettier baby brother.”

Sebastian nodded, “The photos I saw were nice looking. Is he okay?”

“Apparently.” James frowned, “Which brings us back to ‘Why was he at MI6’ because that’s a bit of a concern.”

“He… Well, a detective, wouldn’t he be looking into it?”

“He’s the kind of lucky idiot who would stumble over the wrong thing,” James explained. “That, and I didn’t expect Mycroft to call him in–not this soon, anyway.”

“…and you don’t want him shot?”

“If I wanted him shot, I had plenty of time to do it.” James shrugged. “No. I want Mycroft shot…”

Sebastian walked up and slid his arms around James. “No, you don’t.”

James glared up at him, “Suddenly you know better than me what I want?”

Sebastian grinned down at him, “Well, either yes, I know better than you what you want, or you’re lying about what you want.”

He raised an eyebrow, “People have died for less than that, you know.”

Sebastian laughed and leaned down and kissed him, running his hands over him–feeling James’ body respond… James pushed him away: Sebastian let him.

“The way you looked flattered when I told you that Mycroft warned me about you? Your tone is different when you talk about him than any of the others…”

“I want him shot,” James protested. “I just…. I want to watch him realize he missed a damn clue–or five–first.” He frowned. “And you think kissing me is going to change my mind?”

“No… I just think you’re sexy as hell… and I think you’re trying to convince yourself you want him shot.” Sebastian laughed. “I’ll grant you that you want to put the man down… you may want to WIN… but you don’t want to have him shot.”

James growled and started pacing around.

“I would have shot most people for saying shit like this, Sebastian.”

“I’m not most people,” Sebastian shrugged. “Besides, if you won’t listen to people when they tell you the truth, you end up with advisors lying to you and bad information.”

James looked like he was going to say something and stopped. He stared at Sebastian long enough that Sebastian started feeling uncomfortable.

Slowly the tension started leaving James and he sighed, “Yeah… that’s always been a problem.”

Sebastian walked back up and put his arms back around him.

“Cut it with the mush,” James grumbled, but he didn’t push away.

“Nah.” Sebastian picked him up, walked over to the sofa, and sat down with James on his lap. “So… tell me about this problem?”

“You know you’re insane?”

“Pot: kettle.” Sebastian murmured as he started… doing…

Sebastian grinned as James arched his neck into the attention. When he’d worked his way down to James’ collarbone he came up enough to say, “So, it’s always been a problem?”

“I… people are so stupid…” James panted and his fingers dug into Sebastian’s hair. “I got used… to just… what they had to say was always stupid…”

“Mmmm…” Sebastian could see the problem. “So you got used to ignoring them or telling them to shut up.” He experimentally bit gently into James chest and kneaded into his back with both hands.

James pushed himself away just slightly in Sebastian’s lap. “This is a piss-poor way to have a discussion.”

“I like it…” Sebastian laughed and ran his hands up and down James’ back, and then dug his fingers into the muscles of his ass.

“Ooooh…” James moaned and arched his back and twisted his neck in a REALLY interestingly serpentine fashion.

“So… you have a bad habit,” Sebastian smirked, “of ignoring or threatening people that contradict you, because you got used to them always being stupid and wrong?”

“Basically–what would it take for you to actually give me a massage?” James glared at him. “And this is cheating…”

“I could be paid off in sex and sniper rifles…”

~

Mycroft closed them into his office and ran a routine sweep. Then he looked Sherlock over, “How close?”

“They were aiming at the drivers; I might not have been hit in any case.”

“That close, I see.” Mycroft rubbed his forehead. “Well, you said there was a problem with the information?”

“Two completely separate problems that may intersect at a handful of points.”

“Imprecise.” Mycroft snapped. “Summary?”

“Sir Edwyn was unquestionably leaking information.” Sherlock sighed. “He covered it up well, but… the clues were there if you knew how to look. I suspect he had also been being blackmailed by Magnussen…”

“Lovely.” Mycroft gave up and got out a headache pill.

“Those will cause rebound headaches, you know.”

“Go on…”

“And you shouldn’t wash them down with scotch.”

“It’s water, Sherlock–and you aren’t one to talk!”

“The scotch bottle has been in evident use–and in fact is down at least a glass since this morning, Mycroft.”

“It has been a stressful day.” Mycroft glared at him, “And as I said, you are not one to talk.”

Sherlock sighed, “Addiction runs in the family, as you well know. I’m simply warning you about not falling into my problems–just because alcohol and your pills are legal…”

“…is.there.anything.else?”

“He had a lot of anonymous drop boxes and emails in his system if you knew how to dig: I recognize a few of the older ones as having been Moriarty’s.”

Mycroft hissed, “Lovely, just LOVELY…”

“I expect people will have to dig through his computers and bank accounts rather more than I had time for.”

“And the OTHER issue?”

“Colonel Moran…” Sherlock paused. “You sent him in with false or misleading information?”

“Yes…?”

“Good luck.” He rolled his eyes. “The worst possible choice for this mission, then.”

“I had gotten that impression, but why do you say so?”

“When he was newly commissioned, he and his partner were sent in to a mission–his partner died due to insufficient information: the intelligence department didn’t share the complete briefing with his commander.”

Mycroft winced.

“And then, when he was a captain, his unit took heavy casualties–lost more than half the unit–when the information they had on the enemy position was in error…”

Mycroft started rubbing his head again.

“And lastly, he was discharged as the scapegoat for the actions of a number of people–when the mission went bad because they were given false information about the location and civilians…” Sherlock paused as Mycroft put his head back and started saying “Goldfish” and “idiot” in multiple languages. “Although he didn’t say anything that could have implicated anyone else, which is why he was recruited into MI6. His track record shows a history of loyalty, and perhaps becoming too attached to his colleagues and teammates–the psychology report calling him a borderline sociopath is ridiculous.”

“Oh?” Mycroft muttered tiredly. _They’d taken someone with a track record of being burned by false or insufficient information and… no wonder he was hostile_.

“I suspect they are just looking at his willingness to kill–he is unusually willing and able to kill, even at close range and personally–but they aren’t taking his intense loyalty and attachments into account. I would suspect he divides the world into people he is loyal to… and everyone else.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And if you fall into the ‘everyone else’ then he’s quite capable of killing you.”

“Judging from the way he was swearing about MI6 personnel…” Mycroft sighed.

“They were pre-disposed to be hostile, and very little was done to help him integrate into the culture,” Sherlock nodded. “It sounded remarkably like people talking about me: too smart, knows everything, asks too many questions. He does have a few people there who respect him, and who he apparently gets on with, but not too many.”

“Perhaps you should talk to him.”

“You seem to... like him?”

“What gives you that idea? He’s a useful asset, that’s all.”

Sherlock snorted, “Whatever you say, Mycroft… just…” He looked rather melancholy for a moment. “If you do like him? Be honest with him–I’d hate to see you fall into two of my mistakes.”

“Two?”

He nodded at the pills and the scotch. “Addictions… and driving away a loyal military man.”

“He’s certainly not Watson!”

“Well, hopefully not,” Sherlock smirked. “Hopefully he isn’t going to run off and marry an assassin or anything.”

Mycroft groaned and shook his head. “Go on… Off with you. I’ll go over the reports and pull out the things you missed.”

“Not if you keep drinking like you have been you won’t!”

“Out!”

Sherlock went home and Mycroft very deliberately put the scotch away for the rest of the night.


	6. Blue Salvia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim finally gets that massage, and a few surprises

Sebastian took Jim back to the bedroom and they worked together to strip and change the bed.

“Seriously, you have good hands.” James twisted his shoulders and his neck. “And I meant I wanted a massage…” _and nothing else… I think._

“While I certainly hope it will lead to something else,” Sebastian grinned, “You DO need a massage and that’s what you’re getting.”  James stripped out of his clothes and lay down–a bit tensely, but then he said he didn’t normally have people he trusted.

James couldn’t help but relax when Sebastian started to work– _damn, he was as good with his hands on a person as he was on a rifle…_

Sebastian leaned into knots on top of knots… “Don’t you ever relax?” James mumbled something into a pillow. “I take it that’s a ‘no’.”

“…was relaxing… Madison…”

Sebastian sighed to himself– _yeah, poor guy, retired, not bothering anyone, and then this shit_.  He stopped asking questions and just worked on a massage. “You’ll be a bit sore if I work any harder...”

“…Stop and I skin you…”

“I’ll take that as consent for a deep tissue massage, yeah,” Sebastian chuckled. “If it ever feels like sharp pain or gets too bad, stop me.”

James didn’t stop him: he just melted more and eventually started drooling into the pillow.  _You must have a hell of a pain tolerance…_ Sebastian considered him functioning through an anaphylaxis reaction, and plotting everything out after nearly dying… _Yeah, he probably does_.  Sebastian carefully rolled him over and propped the pillows to support him until he woke up.

…

James woke up feeling simultaneously like he’d been beaten up and had the best sleep of his life–also he wasn’t at all certain he could use his limbs… they felt floppy.

He finally managed to sit up, saw a bottle of water and pills sitting with a note–Sebastian left them, he was downstairs…

After a few false starts he took the pills, drank the water, got dressed and staggered downstairs to find Sebastian making breakfast.

“Where did you learn to do THAT?” James managed to ask after a cup of tea– _blessed real English Tea._

“I dated a professional masseuse who was going to school for Physical Therapy.” Sebastian put a plate of food in front of him and sat down with his own. “Pity it didn’t work out, but…military, you know–it’s hell on relationships.”

“I owe her a gift basket.”

“I THINK I have her current address? Not on me, though.  You needed it… also, at the risk of the pot calling the kettle black here: you really need to relax more.”

“I was relaxed… in Madison… it’s why I missed so much.” James sighed. “I was… I was RETIRED damn it!  I mean I won’t say I didn’t keep my hand in some minor things, but… they HAD to go and start this up again.”

“Well… we’ll finish it.  I assume you were planning on SOME assassinations?”

“Of course, and I wanted to get rid of the people who identified me…”

“Oh yeah, the CIA guy:  I met the man; one of those accursed men who gets assigned to the back of beyond so the rest of the office doesn’t have to deal with him, I think.  I may be biased,” he admitted, “I REALLY didn’t like him.”

“And he reported it up and it got to Mycroft. DAMN it… anyone else would have written it off, but not the Iceman… although how the hell he could imagine I was alive…” James grumbled, “I spent a lot of time and effort on the identification of that body.” Then he sat back and stared at the ceiling, “Although part of it was counting on him being busy with his brother’s death…”

“So who’s old money pearl lady?” Sebastian asked carefully around a mouthful of jam on toast. “For that matter who’s bland guy that was debriefing me?”

“Bland Guy was John Garvie… he…” James waved a fork, “Back before I retired I was working with someone–I mostly worked on contracts you know– and had him caught on some real and some trumped up charges: he spent a bit of time in jail and… apparently they put him back in the Ultra clearance group once they got him out.”

“Okay? Well… I don’t like him.” Sebastian considered, “Jail? Maybe that’s why he’s so nervous?”

“Dunno. I stopped paying any attention to him once he was replaced by Sir Edwyn.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that. “Wait, you got him replaced with Sir Edwyn? Uh… why?”

“Partly for my benefit, partly for my client.” James rolled his shoulders back.

“… and then when he came back they were BOTH in the same group? Uh… did Sir Edwyn know you got his predecessor put away?”

“He certainly had hints… Back in the day he was rather firmly on the leash: he used to send me information–he used to send Mags information, too.  It’s one of the reasons I needed to have him killed: he was FAR more likely to recognize my hand in things having dealt with me more.” James paused to eat a few more bites, “Also he might have given something away.  As it is? I haven’t dealt with him since I publicly died; so no trouble there.”

“Mags?”

“Magnussen-publisher.” James made a face.

Sebastian blinked a lot, “Wasn’t he the guy that was killed by terrorists or something?”

“I don’t know exactly what happened:  I was retired, remember?  He was a blackmailer though, so I expect he just blackmailed the wrong person.”

“oh… and he had his hooks in MI6?  The blackmailer?”

“Yes, that’s what Mags hired me for: moving one of his victims into a better position.”  James sighed, “Being retired I was so far out of the loop… I’m playing catch up now and it’s frustrating.”

“So who’s old money pearl necklace lady?”

“Oh…” James smiled in a very unfriendly fashion, “That would be Lady Elizabeth Smallwood–she is on the security committee publicly, and of course one of the Ultra clearance folks behind the scenes.”

“You don’t like her either, huh?”

“I hate her lying hypocritical accessory…” James took a deep breath and smiled in a very unconvincing fashion. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Sebastian laughed. “Ok… so is she our next target?”

“I’m debating… the problem is that a lot seems to have happened behind the scenes, and I don’t want to mess this up.  I think we should continue targeting lower level MI6 individuals until I can get all the information.”

“How about we just kidnap Holmes?”

James blinked at him and then did an exaggerated double take at his tea. “Did you actually say ‘just kidnap Holmes’? Or am I hallucinating?”

“I suggested we kidnap the man that we BOTH think is interesting, and who clearly was on top of this project from square one:  he’ll have all the information anyway.”

“You don’t just kidnap Mycroft!”

“Why not?”

“For one thing he’s surrounded by armed guards; for another thing his brother is a determined sort.”

“Do you want to kidnap his brother too?  I don’t think that’s a good idea–”

“God, no! Then everyone would know it was me: I had a bit of an obsession with Sherlock…”

“True.” Sebastian shrugged. “Why CAN’T we get to Mycroft?”

“I already told you!  He’s guarded better than the rest of them, and he rarely goes out: most of his so-called social life consists of dealing with the royals, so even more guarded.”

“Then… keep picking off my target list, and send me back to them: Mycroft Holmes was a bit more reasonable than most of them; maybe he’ll talk to me.”

“Hmm… that… might work?”

James was trying to think when Sebastian said: “Besides, it will give me a chance to catch up with Watson.”

James spoon dropped and clattered onto the table. “What did you say?”

“It would give me a chance to catch up with Watson?  Captain, Doctor, John Watson…Sherlock Holmes’ blogger?”

“You know him?!” James was appalled– _how the hell did I miss THAT?!_

“You could say that…” Sebastian grinned, “You didn’t know?”

“NO!”

“Remember I said I got my nickname from an incident with three of my buddies, a few other units and some strippers?”

“Yesss?”

“Watson was in one of the other units on leave-that’s when we met.”

“No I had no idea! Uh… I may… have threatened him a lot…” James cleared his throat, “I hope that isn’t a problem?”

“I got hints of that from his blog.” Sebastian grinned. “He’s an adrenaline junkie: he probably liked it.”

“I … actually started out thinking he was really annoying, but he kind of grew on me…by then though things were blowing up badly…” James shook his head.

“Well as far as you threatening him; apparently you weren’t the only one: he posted about someone kidnapping him and putting him in a bonfire!”

Sebastian was enjoying being ahead of the man on at least this much, so he continued. “I get the impression a lot of people tried to get to Sherlock Holmes through him–it was pretty obvious he had a thing for the man, at least  before.  He stopped posting for a long time after Sherlock died… until he met his wife–well wife to be: she was a nurse at his work.  Then Sherlock showed back up and he stopped posting again and when he did post he sounded really angry… but eventually  he got married to that nurse and had a kid.” Sebastian looked down at his own tea sadly, “His wife died not long after their daughter was born. I sent him a condolence card, but I get the feeling he left a lot out… I figure I owe him a visit.”

“Say what?” James was looking at him in utter confusion. “Johnny boy got MARRIED?  To a woman?  They had a kid?  He didn’t get back with Sherlock when he turned back up?”

Sebastian stared at him, “You REALLY didn’t keep up at all?”

“I couldn’t!  If I read his blog I would be tempted to comment again and… look my being dead only worked by having NO contact.” _He knew Watson…_ something important started scratching at the back of James’ mind.

“Damn… okay… well… uh… yeah, I know Watson–knew him pretty well when we were both in the military, but I haven’t seen him in person since he got discharged.” 

“No WAY Mycroft knew that.” James muttered–plans started coalescing... “You two never served together?”

“No.”

“Mycroft Holmes never, EVER, would have sent you if he knew you had a connection with Watson… so he didn’t know.  You said he was the one being more reasonable, so… he probably had one impression of you from your file and got a different one once he met you–he’s terrifyingly observant–and changed gears...” 

James smiled and looked up at Sebastian. _Oh this was PERFECT…_ “So YES you get to go visit dear old Johnny boy, and that will throw Mycroft into complete confusion, because he hates missing things worse than I do!  That should let you get well placed to find some things out…”

“And maybe get some straight answers that way.” Sebastian nodded.

“I still can barely believe you know Watson and no one noticed…” James shook his head. “Well, that will put you right in close to find out what’s going on with Sherlock and to make contact out of an office setting with Mycroft… And I’m really annoyed about how few of my contacts I have left because I have missed FAR too much.”

“Ok, so straight question… or gay one maybe,” Sebastian grinned. “Can I sleep with any of them?  I told you I have a hell of a libido.”

“If you can get any of them into bed you’ve earned it.” James rolled his eyes– _it was never going to happen_ –“but I want video… or an invitation to join.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meaning from: https://www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers#flower-meanings


	7. White Chrysanthemums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sebastian talk... a lot...  
> (discussion of basically the plot lines of Seasons 1-4 in brief)  
> CW: for canon suicidal ideation

Sebastian had gone to the actual safe house to retrieve his clothing, and then to Baker Street.  From what he had seen on John’s blog he had moved back to Baker Street with his daughter, but he wasn’t certain if he was reading it right…  Sebastian was just about to ring the bell when the door opened to an attractive older woman.

“He’s not in, dear.”

Sebastian blinked several times. “He’s not?”

“No, but I can leave him a message?  He can call you when he gets back…”

“Alright, well… I had hoped to spend the day catching up; we haven’t seen each other since he was discharged but–”

“OH!  Oh, you’re here for John?”

“Uh… yes?  John Watson?”

“Oh, I thought you were here to see Sherlock about a case…” she looked him over thoughtfully, “Do come in, I’ll try to get John to see you: poor dear hasn’t been going out or socializing much…”

He was taken into an oddly old fashioned sitting room and plied with  biscuits and tea before she would go off to fetch John… along the way he found out she was Martha Hudson–the owner of the building– that she had a bad hip, and that she was ‘dreadfully concerned’ about both Sherlock and John.

“Well, I’m an old friend of John’s as I said, and… well, I got rather mixed up in some security matters once I was back in England, so I’ve heard a bit about Sherlock lately, but I never met the man.”

She nodded firmly, “They need someone to look after them because they’re both complete idiots. I love them dearly but…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She trotted out, leaving him to sit blinking with his biscuits –very nice lemon squares– and tea.

After a while he heard a tired voice, “Mrs. Hudson, really it must be a mistake: no one from the old unit would be showing up unannounced.”

Sebastian stood up with a grin, “Hullo, John…” but the smile faded when he looked the man over: he had aged far too much in the few years they’d been apart, and he looked beaten down.

“…Moran?”  and then his face lit up and he looked far more like he had before, “Good GOD! Tiger?!   You … you…”

Sebastian walked up and hugged the man, “Good to see you too, TC!  It’s been FAR too long!”

He hugged him back as if he was a drowning man holding a life line. “God…”

“I would have been to visit sooner, but… well, I don’t know how much you follow the news, but I got thrown under the bus again.”

“No? I… I’m sorry I didn’t keep up on any of it…” John looked almost dazed.

“Got hired by MI6, and promptly stepped in a shit pile–it’s my lot in life.” Sebastian shook his head. “But I’m here now and… Can we go someplace to catch up?”

“I’ll watch Rosie, dear.” Mrs. Hudson chimed in happily, “You two go talk.”

…

“So… you … you must still have a pretty good security clearance?” John asked after they had picked up some takeout food and returned to his temporary flat: he was officially living in 221B in fact, but spending a great deal of time in the basement flat helping Mrs. Hudson get it ready for renting out.

Sebastian set up the table and chairs in the empty room and helped lay out the food. “This is a nice flat…”

“It wasn’t, before, but she got some people in to take care of the mold and… honestly she could easily hire someone professional to fix it up but…”

“But you need to get away from people.” Sebastian nodded.

“My flat mate especially.” John sighed, “Seriously, though, what is your clearance these days?”

“To be bluntly honest, TC, I don’t know right now… but…” he tapped the table, “I take it this flat isn’t bugged?”

“Another reason I spend time down here.” John nodded. “Supposedly Sherlock’s flat isn’t bugged anymore, but… I don’t trust it.” John waved around, “I helped put the drywall in place here, there are few enough windows, and with so few furnishings in place and fresh paint?”

Sebastian nodded, “Then to put it bluntly, I was working for MI6–probationary– after … well. It was bad, and I was discharged and took the blame for it even though a lot of other people should have gone down with me. Things were going badly in MI6, too, and just recently I got loaned out to some… some people with a clearance so high they wouldn’t tell me their real names.” Sebastian sighed, “And handed a file and sent to kill someone in America–we didn’t have clearance for that either, exactly.”

“Shit!” John looked around, “Do you need to hide?  I can…Hold it: MI6? You didn’t have anything to do with that bombing? Sir Edwyn?”

“I found out about it after I was already in MI5 protective custody because a sniper shot at me when I got back to London.” Sebastian looked at him thoughtfully, “But I won’t lie to you, TC: it’s all of a part with what I was doing… I didn’t do it, but I can’t honestly say it didn’t involve me.”

“o…kay?” John frowned, “You got shot at? By a sniper?”

“It’s involved with that case…and I think it involved you and your flat mate.”

“Hmm… His brother asked him to investigate the bombing...”

“John, can you describe his brother for me?”

John looked perplexed but shrugged and started talking. “Watched too many spy movies as a kid, thin but thinks he’s fat, speaks sarcasm fluently, umbrella, three piece suit–no joke, vest and everything– fond of dark cars…” John sighed, “A complete and utter ass who’s so deep into secrets and politics that he wouldn’t know illegal orders if they bit him…I think he really cares for Sherlock though…” John suddenly smiled tiredly, “That’s not really a good description, is it?”

“Actually… it is.  Does he use the name Antarctica?”

John sat up straight and stared at him, “Yes.”

“Old money lady with pearls and a bad case of entitlement; uses the name Love but I saw enough photos of her at  high level meetings to find out she was–”

“–Lady Smallwood.”

Sebastian nodded. “I got pulled out of MI6–personally selected to be the sacrificial lamb and get killed by Sir Edwyn himself– and that lot sent me off.  I found out when it all went to shit that I was bait: the professional team was following me.”

“I will KILL him!” John growled and his face went dark.

“No you won’t, because it’s my privilege.” Sebastian snapped. “I’m only telling you because you and your friend are hip deep in it and I owe you that much.”

John got up and started pacing, “Fuck Mycroft!  I’d say how could he but he never gave a rat’s ass about anyone but Sherlock– and even then he was a cold bastard.”

“HE’S the only one that tried to warn me.”

John stopped and turned back to face him, “What?”

“He tried to warn me at the briefing not to underestimate my target.  He was also the only one who wasn’t sending me messages–trying to leak my position– and… well I was a bit too angry when I called in to care at the time, but… he sounded like he hadn’t been… anyway I’m pissed at him, but not half as pissed as I am–was– at Sir Edwyn, and Lady Smallwood.” He considered, “I’m angry at Bland Man too, but he’s too pathetic to hate.”

“Bland Man?”

“Turns out to be Sir John Garvie–dunno quite how he ended up with that group, but… he and Smallwood were trying to leak my position and hassle me…” Sebastian worked the snarl off his face with effort.

John sat back down and picked up his drink. “Mycroft didn’t know you knew me… did he?”

“I assume not?”

“So you said I’m hip deep in this… why?”

“They sent me off because someone thought they’d spotted ‘Moriarty’ in America.  I was supposed to go find out if it was him and… supposedly retrieve him.” Sebastian watched the expressions playing over the man’s face and grinned, “Yeah, the photos of him were good looking.”

“Moriarty wasn’t good looking!”

“You keep telling yourself that TC.”

“Sherlock is good looking,” He muttered.

“Yeah… he is. Saw a lot of his photos and you could hardly have been more obvious on your blog–I guess his death being faked is why they thought Moriarty might have faked his.”

John shook his head, “No… Moriarty blew his brains out in front of Sherlock, nothing fake there. We got rattled a bit when his face turned up on all the screens but… that was all old video.” He looked up, “did they tell you about that?  Oh, and what did this Moriarty sighting turn out to be?”

“It wasn’t brought up, no.  As to the Moriarty sighting? Good looking guy managing a flower shop in Wisconsin.”

John almost choked. After he finished clearing his throat he managed to get out, “Oh God no! How could ANYONE think that was Moriarty?!”

“Well, it wasn’t as strange an idea as it looked at first, but…” he shrugged, “There’s a lot I can’t tell you right now–partly because I’m still pissed at some people and if I do get a shot at them I don’t want you being held as an accessory.”

“Fair enough.” John shook his head, “That would be all we’d need–Moriarty still alive.  Sherlock would be thrilled, I think… or maybe horrified… or both.”

“So officially I’m in protective custody in a safe house, because of the fact that someone shot at me and then Sir Edwyn being killed, but I was never the type to hole up and hide.”

“You?” John snorted. “Not likely.”

“So since the case with the Moriarty lookalike involved you and your friend… I figured I should actually show up in person.”  He sat back, “Care to answer a really rude question?”

John sighed, “Sure.”

“What the hell were you thinking? I read your blog… ‘Nice settled nurse’, ‘setting up a clinic together’ and a picture perfect wedding…?”

John winced, “She… wasn’t…” he looked up, “She was an assassin.”

“Oh?  Well THAT makes more sense, then.”

“It DOES?!”

"John... you hate boring stay at home sensible types...if she was a sweet little homebody, you would have been out the door in a flash..."

John winced. He took a few sips of drink and poked dubiously at the remains of his food, “Okay, point.” He muttered. “That… was kind of the problem… I was… I was trying to get over Sherlock’s death…”

“… yeah… look… can you tell me what ACTUALLY happened?”

“I’d like to, yeah? That’s why I asked about security clearances… it’s all mixed up with stuff that’s so need to know that I figure they should have shot me and lost the paperwork by now–probably would have if Sherlock wasn’t involved.”

“So? Talk…”

John talked.  He told him about the depression, and meeting Sherlock, and Mycroft abducting him in a car.  He told him about the cases and the adrenaline and his face lit up when he told him about shooting the cabbie.  He told him about Sherlock being his best friend and the most self-absorbed twat you can imagine, about the MET and his brother Mycroft…

And about Moriarty…

“… and after that you and Sherlock DIDN’T end up together?!”

“Look, Tiger, YOU may be gay, but I’m not!”

Sebastian snorted, “Get your terms right, TC… I’m Bi–Pan if you prefer that term–not gay, and you talk about him like that…”

John sighed, “Let me… go on a bit.”

They ordered in more food, and a good bit more beer, and John picked up again.  The devastation of Sherlock’s death… Mary more or less picking him up and making him eat and dragging him out… and then Sherlock waltzing in the day he was going to propose.

“Two years?! Two years and no one told you?!”

“No… and the only reason I’m not dead is Mary… I came so close, so many times…” John smiled sadly, “At first I just didn’t want to let Moriarty win, you know? Then it was more like… not having the energy to even kill myself.”

“John… look, you know I’m not the model of mental health here, but… you NEED to talk to someone.”

John laughed bitterly, “I did… she turned out to be Sherlock’s psychopathic sister.”

“Say what?”

“Let… me get there.”

Sebastian nodded and sat back while John told him about the tension of Sherlock being back and Mary… and then about Magnusson…

“So he was blackmailing Lady Smallwood, AND your wife… and getting his hooks in all sorts of high level shit?”

“Yes… I suspect he was blackmailing Mycroft too, since he tried to warn Sherlock away, but…”

“Well it certainly explains his mysterious death at the hands of a terrorist…”

“No. Sherlock shot him, close range, to protect Mary–and Mycroft I think– after he realized we were in that deep.  He went to jail and… they arranged the cover up.” John had that distant stare that spelled trouble in any military, “They were sending him off to get killed–off to where he had been hurt during the time he was gone.  Sherlock…well I think he was going to kill himself–overdose– but then that video take over…”

“And they had to call him back.” Sebastian smiled, “Oh that’s clever… Mycroft did that?”

“I never did get the details, but I suspect it was Euros, but maybe Mycroft was involved.”

“Euros?”

“The sister… anyway, Sherlock came back and… it turned out that the videos were all old–from before.  Then… well… then everything went down the rabbit hole and after that nothing quite made sense anymore.”

“THEN they went down the rabbit hole?” Sebastian shook his head, “ok, go on…”

John’s story got a bit less steady: he told him about the girl on the bus, and texting… Mary vanishing, reappearing, and then… then Smallwood’s secretary and Mary dying… and being so angry…

“And later we found out my new therapist was Euros, and… I don’t know, I just kept getting angrier…”

“Neither of us needs much help in that department, mate–my arm still twinges on cold days.”

“I’d say I was sorry, but those assholes deserved it…”

“Yeah, they were asking for it–how is your leg, by the way?”

“Other than the purely psychosomatic flare ups? Fine.”  John looked up at him, “You’re taking this all pretty well?”

“I think you needed someone to talk to… but I gotta tell you, as someone who knew you? Your blog posts stopped making sense… and you left too much out in your letters.”

“Yeah… it all got… so strange… and I was angry… and drinking too much.”

“Should I not have ordered beer?”

“Probably not, but… I don’t think I could have told you this much sober.”

“Well, stop drinking and tell me the rest of it.”

The story about some doctor and his daughter who was Euros didn’t make much sense… but John broke down when he talked about beating Sherlock…

“I was SO angry… and I didn’t know why, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t STOP!”  John was howling and Sebastian made sure to get hold of his arms. “I HATED him and I … I wanted Mary back, and… I was so guilty… it took me  until after Euros to realize I … I’d wanted a divorce– I’d wanted to never have married her… but… I loved her and Sherlock was to blame… except he wasn’t…”

“John…” Sebastian put John down onto the sofa and got him a bottle of water. "You tried to find someone who was the opposite of your type....because you were hurt. The only way you two would have had a chance would be if she brought you on to her job as an assassin...as it is she wanted to retire to John Watson's personal hell..."

John looked up with a stunned look. “She… did, didn’t she?  It was her idea of heaven…”

“And not yours.” Sebastian plugged the kettle in on the floor and set up for tea–he didn’t think John should be left alone. “So you were hurting and guilty and there was that temper we both have… and the man you loved was right there, but the woman you didn’t love was married to you…”

“I’m… I’m not gay!  Why does everyone keep saying stuff like that?”

“John… yeah, you’re ‘Three Continents Watson’ and you like a pretty girl more than most.” Sebastian shook his head, “But it was damn obvious even from your blog that Sherlock Holmes was JUST your type.  Okay, he’s the wrong gender: so?”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Listen to yourself, man… you love the man, you couldn’t possibly be THAT mad at him if he wasn’t that close!  You would have moved out, moved on, or just… shot him.”

“…I… I don’t know.  I like girls…”

“Finish telling me the rest of it…and then I’ll tell you what kind of an idiot you’ve been.”

“I already know.”

“No, you don’t.  You said this girl messed you up, and you’re hip deep in high level craziness that makes the conspiracy rags look normal.  I think you’re missing the forest for the trees.”

“Maybe… fair warning it gets weirder from here…”

“How?!”

“Trust me.”

Sebastian got them both set up with tea–and some sweets; it was nearly dawn by now and they were both tired.

John told him about Sherringford, and Euros, and Redbeard… and it made no sense at all.

“I… you know that doesn’t even fit together?”

“Yeah, the longer I go over it the less sense it makes… but…she… she was locked up as a kid, and …”

“I want you to go over it, slowly, as much as you can remember…”

John went over it all again: Euros controlling the prison, manipulating people… the fact that Moriarty had visited her as a Christmas present… Plots and secrets and strange childhood songs…and the Holmes parents blaming Mycroft… Sherlock blaming him until fairly recently…

“And what’s going on NOW with her?” Sebastian asked, trying to grab hold of the one thing he could understand. “She’s dangerous…”

“Supposedly she’s catatonic, but since she wasn’t catatonic directly  afterwards– just not verbal– Sherlock thinks she was either poisoned or had a medical issue…the fact that he isn’t insisting on getting his hands on the blood tests to find out tells me he doesn’t really want to know.  Sherlock’s parents go up fairly often now that they know she’s alive and try to visit, but she doesn’t respond anymore.” John looked up tiredly, “And I can think of at least seven ways I could have done that to her medically, and I hope someone did–I’m just angry they didn’t kill her.”

“If I believe this–and I don’t doubt YOU John, but from your own statements your mind got messed with–then yeah, she needs to be thoroughly and sincerely dead.”

John’s pocket started beeping and he fumbled a phone out of his pocket. “What? Oh dear GOD it’s when?!”  He started texting back rapidly. “Sorry,” he looked up briefly and then went back to typing.  When he was done he said, “Sherlock was panicked… I explained that an old army friend was visiting and… it was someone I could talk to… he said he looks forward to meeting you.”

“I’d love to meet him.  Especially since you need to deal with the fact that you wish you’d married him, not Mary.”

John exploded. “He’s a GUY!  A Bloke!  You know, Male?!”

“John…yes, you prefer women, but I think you just can’t wrap your brain around the fact that you want to spend the rest of your life with a man, when you prefer girls.”

“How would that even work?!”

“Well, you can try to find ways of enjoying sex with him.”

“Not EVERYONE is Bi, Moran!”

“You remember Ambrose?”

John blinked a lot, “who?”

“Redhead, unpronounceable Welsh last name?”

“OH! Oh yeah, him… what… what about him?”

“You remember his fascination with big tits?”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”

“He married a girl who’s built like a stick.”

“HIM?”

“Yeah. He still looks at the big girls, and I think he’d be happier if Myra had a bust job, but as he said: he loves her and he’ll put up with the fact that he prefers… something else physically.” Sebastian shrugged, “Sex can be fun with people who aren’t your type, but even if you two can’t cope with sex… that’s something you can get somewhere else as long as you two are honest about it.”

“I just told you I cheated–at least emotionally–on Mary and–”

“I am NOT suggesting you CHEAT!” Sebastian snorted, “You’re tired and not paying attention, and I’m tired and the tea is starting to taste bad… look, either you work it out to just between you two–including sex– OR you agree to a chaste relationship, OR you openly and honestly and without cheating arrange that one or both of you will have another partner: it could be hired sex, an agreed on girlfriend, or a poly arrangement with a live in third… or fourth.” 

“…I… think it’s a bit late to even try.” John said quietly.

“And how much later will it be if you don’t try?”

John looked up bleakly, “what if… what if Sherlock doesn’t want to get involved with any of it?  What if he wants to be exclusive–he used to chase off my dates all the time–and I can’t stand the idea of sex with him, or he doesn’t want to at all?”

“Now you see?  You have to TALK to him to find any of that out.”

After being quiet for a while John muttered: “I really, really, hate you some days…”

Sebastian nodded and almost passed out. “And … look, can I sleep down here? I don’t think I’m in any condition to go anywhere.”

“Yeah, the sofa pulls out… I have to go upstairs and prove to Sherlock that I’m alive and well.”

“I can tell he’s totally not interested in a relationship.”

“I don’t think he wants that KIND of one…”

“Sleep, eat, worry about the rest of it if you wake up, right?” Sebastian said quoting a mutual friend, now dead.

John smiled a bit, “Still good advice.”

“To absent friends… and places to sleep that don’t have snakes, scorpions, or dust storms.”

Sebastian unfolded the sofa bed while John pulled out the spare pillows and blankets for him and then he went upstairs: Sebastian waited until he was gone and texted Jim that he was going to be out of touch a bit longer, but that everything was ok…

“However, there is a LOT we need to discuss before you take ANY further action–critical security information.”

Sebastian stripped; made sure he had a weapon in reach, and tried to sleep.


	8. Azalea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John talks a bit to Sherlock, and Sherlock and Mycroft have a long overdue chat in which assumptions start to unravel

Sherlock noted that John was extremely pensive as he came up to the flat, but… contrarily he seemed more at ease?

“John?  I didn’t mean to disturb your reunion… I was–”

“It’s alright… we… we talked a lot and… he’s kipping on the sofa downstairs…  I need to talk to you, but I’m too tired to manage most of it.” John kept looking everywhere but at Sherlock.

“Perfectly alright.” Sherlock waved rather hesitantly at the kitchen. _Tea solved everything, didn’t it?_

“I’ll be starving when I get up, but… I don’t want to eat any more right before I lie down… um…” John took a deep breath and clearly steeled himself to say something important: Sherlock tried to brace himself: _he was moving out, he was going to take Rosamund and move out… how can I stop him?_

“I know you’ve told me not to, but… I need to apologize again for… for hurting you.”

 _Not what I had anticipated?_ “That’s… quite alright, John.”

“No, it wasn’t and isn’t alright.  I think a lot of it had to do with Euros–God knows how much she played on my issues–but as Tiger… well… I’ve always had a temper, and… no matter how much Euros was pushing me, I started out  being angry… and I shouldn’t have been angry with you, because… because I was angry with myself more… and I just lashed out.”

“You were angry with me for–”

“The only thing I was ever really angry with you for, Sherlock, was dying… and not letting me know for that long.” John shook his head, “I’m still angry about it–probably always will be, no matter how reasonable anyone makes it sound.”

He held up a hand before Sherlock could say anything. “My friend` pointed out that Mary… she wanted to retire to exactly the kind of settled home life that I… I thought I should want, and didn’t.  I was literally running away from anything that reminded me of you, because losing you hurt.”

Sherlock felt like someone had punched him in the chest–he could scarcely breathe… “That’s… oh… that’s… you two must have had…a lot to talk about.”

John smiled tiredly, “I barely shut up long enough to eat: there hasn’t been anyone I could talk TO about any of this… and maybe I wasn’t ready to either… but…” he walked up and put a hand gently on Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sherlock: I didn’t love Mary the way I thought I should, and it made me feel even guiltier when  she died, because a part of me was heartbroken and a part of me was relieved… and I couldn’t stand it and I took it out on you.  Euros must have thought she got handed a gift basket when she got to me.”

He turned to go– _Don’t let him!–_ and Sherlock  grabbed hold of his hand and stood up. “Thank you… and… I’m sorry too. I had… I never had friends–people I cared about so much– before, and knowing you were threatened was terrifying.  I never really understood how it would affect you; I just knew I couldn’t let you be killed…” he didn’t dare meet John’s eyes, but he kept staring at John’s hand in his. “I’m afraid neither Mycroft nor myself are very adept at…” he couldn’t help but smile a bit wryly, “sentiment.  ‘Caring is not a virtue’ after all…but…” 

He looked up into John’s face, expecting to see the same guarded, remote, and wounded eyes he had been seeing since John moved back to Baker Street; instead he saw the intensity that had been missing for so long, albeit glazed with exhaustion.  Sherlock tried to find the words…“I would go through all of it again, no matter how horrible, if it meant keeping you safe, John… I just… I didn’t understand…”

“I didn’t understand either.” John said quietly. “I needed someone to listen to me and then… well, tell me plain truths and kick me into action, I suppose.” He chuckled, “And I’m still too tired to have the rest of this conversation, but… I needed to start saying something before I lost my nerve.”

“I owe your friend a debt….” Sherlock looked toward the door–and belatedly realized he hadn’t let go of John’s hand, which he did. “I’ve… been a bit of a coward about trying to talk to you as well…”

“Nah, I wasn’t a good person to talk to.” John yawned and sagged against the back of the chair. “Can… can you and Mrs. Hudson watch Rosie today? I need to sleep.”

“Of course…” Sherlock gave in to impulse and hugged him.  John stiffened momentarily, angrily, and then… he put his arms around Sherlock and hugged him back, like they had years ago, before… before everything.

“I’m… still sometimes dangerously angry, Sherlock,” John said quietly, not letting go. “I don’t think it’s all just me… and… we need to find out how to fix it before I hurt you again.”

Sherlock reluctantly let go and John stepped back.

“I’ll… see if there is a therapist who can… I don’t suppose your friend?”

“He’s… well maybe Tiger is the kind of therapist I need–not afraid to twist my arm behind my back and sit on me if I need it.” John yawned again and nearly fell over.

“Go to bed, John… I’ll… when do you want to get up?”

“Tomorrow morning, but that’s probably not going to work… after noon, yeah?”

Sherlock sent him up to his room and sat down staring at the wall trying to think: _I owe his friend–whoever Tiger is–more than he could possibly understand._   He sent a text to Mrs. Hudson asking her to not disturb the guest in her other flat and to be sure that if he woke up first she sent him upstairs immediately.

He spent some time in his mind palace considering– _yes, Euros had had direct contact with John, and himself, from early on; she could easily have tampered with their existing issues, exaggerated them and twisted them._

When he came out of his contemplations it was mid-morning: he called his brother.

~

Mycroft hated to admit that he enjoyed this.  He was busy and didn’t have time to think about any personal matters at all, and none of the others had time to talk to him or deal with him except on business.

 _If work was always like this I could almost believe… no point in being unrealistic_.

He had gotten effusive praise and thanks from Equinox, but John was so overwhelmed that Mycroft scarcely credited it.  He had gotten a gruff, “thank you, well spotted,” from Crescent, though, and that was something he would treasure–the man had been one of the foremost advocates for his retirement after everything.

After some time–he hadn’t been paying much attention to the time– his brother called: he was put through immediately of course.

“Do you have time to discuss non urgent matters?”

Mycroft was utterly touched by his consideration. “I can make time.”  The ‘For you’ remained unspoken.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Some military friend of John’s named ‘Tiger’ came to visit him, and… can you give a military man a raise?”

“Pardon?” Mycroft started going through the dossiers on John’s military associates in his head. “I could certainly arrange it? Active duty, retired?”

“I don’t know yet… they… John stayed downstairs talking to him since from before I came home until… well, well after I expected him up for breakfast.  Mrs. Hudson had told me he was visiting but… anyway they were apparently talking the entire time: Tiger is sleeping on… on John’s sofa bed… John came up…”

Mycroft was frowning in concern at Sherlock’s stuttered hesitation, and shaken tones, but… “You don’t sound as though anything is… wrong exactly?”

“John came in and… he talked to me, Mycroft– really talked.  He said he was too tired for most of it but he … after talking to his friend he wanted to start saying things before he lost his nerve… it was… it was like he was before… I hadn’t realized how different he had become…”

Mycroft took a deep breath– _please last, please be real… if Sherlock had his hopes dashed again_ … He cleared his throat nervously, “What was he talking about?”

“he… said he was sorry for hurting me, and that… that he hadn’t loved Mary–no, that he hadn’t loved her the way he thought he should– and it made him feel guilty, and he lashed out…”

Mycroft’s eyes widened, “he… said that?”

Sherlock’s voice softened. “He also said that he’d… gotten involved with her because he was… was trying to find someone that didn’t… that wasn’t like me, because memories of me hurt.  I thought he’d loved her, Myc…More than…”

 _Good god…_ Mycroft sat back in his chair, “All of this from talking to his friend? I’m afraid I don’t have anyone in his files called Tiger, but a private nickname might never make it into my files… you haven’t met him?”

“No… not yet, they were both exhausted.  John almost fell asleep on his feet.”  Sherlock was moving things on the table nervously; Mycroft could hear him.  “He… its very obvious he told him about Euros, and… well, quite a bit more.  Can you fix the security issues?... please…”

Mycroft smiled, “Of course.  Just get me the man’s name, and details and I’ll have him officially cleared for whatever John told him.”

“Thank you. uh John came up from his talk saying he… he still needed therapy–and that he thought Euros’ manipulations may have gone deeper than we paid attention to.” Sherlock took a deep breath, “She had access to me–unobserved, here in London– as well, Mycroft.  We… haven’t been considering how many of our problems could have been enhanced… manipulated… even if not created out of whole cloth…”

Mycroft looked longingly at the scotch. “That… is likely… and I may have underestimated her subtlety.” He looked at his hand, and back at the scotch bottle…  “Sherlock… do you remember my drinking to excess before?”

There was a long pause as Sherlock consulted his memories. “No.  Your drug of choice was always sugar or sweets…”

“That’s not a drug.” Mycroft protested.

“Would you care for me to send you the research on the addictive nature of certain foods and additives, and the combination of sugars and fats?  I can have them to you in minutes.”

Mycroft had the uncomfortable feeling that he would, in fact, have them on hand. “Not necessary.  I was considering the fact that my first response to the discussion of Euros manipulating us was to get a glass of scotch… however, if I wasn’t drinking heavily when I had to deal with your overdoses…”

“You always liked a good scotch, or port, but no; you would run off to cakes and pastries and such, not alcohol…” Sherlock’s voice had sharpened, “And… I never used to put up with being pushed around, or hit… well unless it was for undercover work… but I… felt like I deserved it from John… and… he said he didn’t feel that all of his anger was natural…”

“You are indicating an enhancement of… weaknesses.” Mycroft pushed the call button: his aide came in and he instructed her to remove all alcohol from his office immediately–“Put it in the supplies for VIP guests.”– He went back to the call: “It will be difficult for either of us to assess ourselves, but… perhaps we could check each other… I am afraid neither of us are likely to work well with a therapist, even if we could find one who believed us.”

“John apparently made great strides with his friend… but I don’t know how much he told him–other than more than would be cleared– and I have no idea how much he believed… I will be able to find out more when they both wake up, I expect.”

“A pity his friend isn’t a therapist.”

Sherlock chuckled, “he said he was exactly the kind of therapist he needed: one able to be bluntly honest and also able to physically overpower him if needed.”

“Then perhaps instead of merely raising his clearance I should try to hire him.”

“If so, Mycroft, only as a consultant and… only with John’s assent:  you’re tendency to try to control people by hiring them is… a sticking point for both of us.”

Mycroft sighed, “Probably–occupational hazard.”

“Still thinking of retiring?”

“… Yes.  If things continued as they are now? With people leaving me alone to work and… not second guessing me?  I might be able to continue, but…”

“A continual crisis isn’t advisable, no.” Sherlock agreed. “I will let you return to the crisis of the moment.”

“Oh, did you get any more information from the computer download you smuggled out of MI6?” Mycroft could almost HEAR Sherlock frown at the phone, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“…Yes.” Sherlock grudgingly answered, “Sir Edwyn was definitely in contact with Moriarty before his death–and no, not after: I checked– and being blackmailed by Magnussen.  I can’t prove it, but it looks as though he may have been involved in the charges against his predecessor, John Garvie.”

Mycroft hissed. “That…” he regretted sending the scotch out and looked over at the Port–that had been taken out too.

“Drinking won’t solve it.” Sherlock said sharply into the phone.

“Unfortunately.” Mycroft gritted his teeth and then forced himself to relax. “Anything else?”

“Not from that, but from the records of Colonel Moran’s mission?  I would give you excellent odds that he killed one or both of the agents.”

Mycroft nodded, “I thought it likely.  Lila was a horrible choice to be allowed anywhere near him.”

“No one interviewed him about the florist, by the way–and I agree with your assessment of Colonel Moran: In addition to certifying that the man was not, in fact, Moriarty, he was very likely personally attracted.”

“If the lookalike had even a fraction of Moriarty’s charisma? I don’t doubt it.” Mycroft shook his head and then… “oh… oh, God…”

“What?”

“Moriarty…” Mycroft whispered. “We knew that Euros worked with him to create all the videos…”

“Yes?”

“Why did we assume she didn’t manipulate him as well?”

“Once I knew she existed, I did in fact assume she had: it would explain his… rather erratic behavior.  You didn’t think so?”

“I… never…” Mycroft desperately wanted a drink, or a cake, or a good solid screaming fit–he took several deep breaths until the nausea settled, but the growing sensitivity to light was a harbinger of a devastating Migraine. “It never crossed my mind, somehow…” Mycroft fumbled for his migraine medication.

“Stop!”

“…what?”

“Wrap those pills, and any other pills you have, in your handkerchief and take a car to Baker Street immediately.”

Mycroft frowned at the tone in his brother’s voice, but began to do so. “I cannot leave the office just yet: I have a call in less than fifteen minutes…”

“Then use a cold compress and turn off the lights, or have a cup of tea, or ANYTHING except alcohol or your medications until I can  get there–I’ll take them to the lab myself.”

Mycroft considered the security lockdown and assassinations.  _My prescriptions are filled by… MI6–Porlock’s department– for safety reasons…_ “You think they’ve been tampered with?”

“I think we have to assume the worst until they’ve been checked.  Euros is one possibility, Sir Edwyn himself is another, and the assassins behind his death are a third: you are a target several times over, Mycroft.  I’ll be right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://flowermeanings.org/azalea-flower-meaning/


	9. Daffodil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Sebastian and Sherlock have a lot in common, and the universe hates Sherlock Holmes personally...  
> more discussions that no one is comfortable with except maybe Sebastian. Also Rosie is adorable)

Sebastian woke up and looked around in some confusion… _where?  Oh… John… basement flat_ … the conversation came back to him slowly as he made himself some tea _.  If even HALF of that is accurate it’s a miracle they aren’t all hopelessly insane…_

There was a light tap at the door and he opened it cautiously, only to find Mrs. Hudson.

“Now I’m not your cook, dear–not theirs either–but you and John were up all night talking and Sherlock did ask me to let you sleep, but I was worried you didn’t have any food–really its well past lunch!” She put a tray of utterly delicious looking breakfast down on the table.

“yes, Ma’am.  Thank you, ma’am.”

“I think it’s wonderful that Sherlock even paid attention: he’s terrible at it but he tries poor dear. Sherlock is a wonderful man, really; a bit odd of course, but a good friend.”  She looked around, nodded and then added, “Sherlock had to go out, but wanted you to go up when you were ready… I expect he’ll be back sometime and want to meet you, but John is home today and I can tell you’re good for him!” And she walked out.

After Sebastian finished blinking he tried the food–excellent.  Once he felt a bit less like biting the phone he checked his messages–several… all from James of course. Better call him sooner than later.

James answered using his American voice: “You took a long time for a delivery, is everything alright?”

“I’m in 221C: John was helping to rehab it… although I think the landlady is stalling so he has time to himself.”

“So you can talk right now?”

“Yes. When I finish breakfast… or lunch– whatever it is its delicious– I need to go up and talk to John and probably Sherlock Holmes, but there are some things you need to know immediately.”

“I got that from your message.  What’s so important?”  He paused, “I put a hold on everything I’m directly involved in, but some actions were already set in motion…”

“Apparently there is a Holmes sister you never mentioned.”

There was a long pause, “Yes?  How did you hear about that?!”

“John told me he got worked over by her: she can apparently mess with peoples’ heads pretty badly, even if I only believe half of it.”

“… I don’t know anything about that, but… she was certainly treated as if she was dangerous… she’s as smart as any of them; maybe more so…”

“If I believe what she was capable of, she had her hooks into Mycroft Holmes, and probably several other people, and was pulling strings before you ever dealt with them…”

“…Yesss?”

“According to John; Mycroft Holmes had you in interrogation?”

“Oh… yes?”  James sounded more comfortable with that topic. “I got what I wanted… why?”

“And then he TOOK you to see her?”

“… Well, yes? I was a Christmas present apparently–I’d THOUGHT he was flirting, but no…”  James sounded teasing but it fell flat just a bit.

“And then you made a lot of videos for her?”

“Some?  Not that many… why?”

“If there’s one thing I know about from my career it’s this kind of dirty intelligence work.” Sebastian nodded even though James couldn’t see him. “You have to assume that you were manipulated–compromised– to some extent: first in interrogation and then later when you were taken to see her.”

“What?” James started laughing, “Why?  She didn’t need to do anything; our interests were compatible…”

“You THINK they were.” Sebastian sighed, “Look… John is messed up–severely messed up– and apparently that’s partly from this Euros person.  It happened gradually and as far as I can tell she put a lever into problems he already HAD and shoved… hard.  It’s probably only obvious to me because I hadn’t seen him in so long…”

“…a gradual change is hard to spot…” James agreed.

“I don’t think it was all that gradual, but…no one here knew him that well to begin with and from what he says? Most of the people who could have spotted it–like the Holmes brothers– were either not around for two fucking years!” he took a deep breath, “Sorry… apparently they let John think Sherlock was dead until he showed back up.”

“What…? Seriously?!”

“Yes.”

“That’s… fucked up.  I mean I get keeping it secret until they got rid of the snipers…”

“Anyway… look: I have to assume that if my friend John is that messed up, and at least partly from this Euros person, then anyone who dealt with her is compromised to some extent: that definitely includes you.”

“I have stabbed people for FAR less.” James’ voice was a growl–which probably had the opposite effect than intended because it just made him sound sexy as far as Sebastian was concerned.

“We already had this discussion about you stabbing people who told you uncomfortable truths, didn’t we?”

There was a very long pause and a grudging, “Yes. I still want to stab you right now.”

“I suggest you consider whether that is part of being influenced.” He paused and added, “Sir,” in the most ‘I think you are being an idiot’ tone he could manage.

“…fine.” James was saying it through gritted teeth; he could tell. “What are you doing now?”

“Going upstairs to talk to John and maybe Sherlock:  I’ll keep in touch.” Sebastian  paused, “But as far as any decisions about people?  The more they might be mixed up with this Euros woman the more you should consider whether your judgment has been affected.”

James grumbled something that sounded like “maybe” and hung up.

Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair and muttered, “It’s a good thing he’s cute and good in bed.”  Then he paused, remembering how he’d come up with brilliant plans even dying…

“Cute, good in bed, a bloody genius… and probably insane.” Sebastian sighed, “Just my type.”

He cleaned up and went upstairs to talk to John.

…

John was sitting at a suspiciously familiar tray, stirring a half empty cup of tea idly.

“I see your landlady ‘wasn’t a cook’ at you too…”

“Mrs. Hudson?  She’s one of the best people… a little odd, but… no one else would put up with all this I think.”  He shook himself and took a sip of his tea and then stared at it.

“Let me guess, ice cold?”

“Ice cold and I apparently drank half of it without sugar…” John shook his head. “I uh… ended up talking a bit to Sherlock when I came up… I just meant to say a couple of things before I lost my nerve and it ended up… with a lot more.”

“Great!  So are you two…?” Sebastian joined him at the table.

“We didn’t get that far.”

“Pity.”

John smiled, “Got further in talking than I have in a while… thank you.”

“What are friends for?”

“Daring each other to drink horrible concocted mixed drinks and flirt with the waitress?”

“Besides that.” Sebastian grinned and then added. “I have reluctantly had to admit that I am still attracted to the exact same type as always.”

“What, breathing?”

“Well, luckily that does seem to be a part of it…”

John paused, “ok, point.”

“Intelligent, Dangerous, and probably a bit crazy.”

“Well that’s why we kept chasing the same girls–at least with you liking men I wasn’t ALWAYS competing!”  John hesitated, “you… aren’t… um... interested in Sherlock? I mean you haven’t even met him…”

“John… TC… seriously?” Sebastian shook his head. “If you two can’t work it out I’ll probably try to scoop him up on the rebound, but you two need to get a try at it first.”

John smiled a bit tiredly, “Thanks...” at that point there was a distinct sound of an infant not quite crying yet. 

“Oh! I get to meet Rosie?”

“Yeah.” John went away and brought back an utterly adorable little girl.  “This is Rosamund Mary Watson–her mother’s real name was Rosamund.”

“She’s adorable: can I hold her?”

John laughed, “Sure… develop her taste for strange military men early, right?  Rosie? This is Uncle Tiger–Uncle Sebastian.”

She made a good attempt at saying something like ‘Tiger’… at least as far as Sebastian was concerned. “Goodness, Miss Rosamund, aren’t you a precocious one!”

“Yeah,” John smiled fondly, “Sherlock… he’s smitten with her I think.  He has all these flashcards and he plays music for her brain development and keeps all her records and measurements.  If she ever wants to know what she ate as a child and exactly how many ounces she gained on Saturday the fifth; Sherlock will be able to tell her.”

“Well if I’m her Uncle Tiger I’ll have to get her a stuffed Tiger toy.” Sebastian grinned, “Teddy bears are so _common_”

John laughed and Sebastian helped to feed her–John wrote down the exact temperature and weight of everything as well as how much she appeared to like it ‘for Sherlock’s records’.

~

Sherlock came up the stairs slowly.  Mycroft had been not only taking his migraine medication with Scotch, but his sedatives, and Sherlock hadn’t even known he was taking sedatives.  They’d been being filled by the internal MI6 pharmacy, of course, to prevent poisoning… but with Sir Edwin badly compromised?  That safety precaution made it that much more likely that Mycroft’s medication had been tampered with.

 _I hope I am wrong… no, I… I hope I’m right, it would explain–_ Sherlock stopped in the doorway in shock: Colonel Sebastian Moran was sitting at his table holding Rosie.

“Sherlock?!” John turned to face him with a smile. “This is my old friend Tiger: Sebastian–”

“–Moran, Colonel Moran…” Sherlock was trying desperately to make this line up. “You… know… Colonel Moran?”  _Moran is interested in men… good friend… attractive…no, no, no, John can’t possibly run off with him!_ He looked at John and tried to see any evidence of attraction, but… _No? Or is that wishful thinking…_

Moran handed Rosie off to John and stood up–his build was more evident in person– “Hello, Mister Holmes… I hope I can call you Sherlock?  Yes, I’m an old friend of John’s… but I expect no one officially knew that.” 

Sherlock beat down the urge to snarl at him and tell him to get away from John. “I certainly didn’t know that.”

He chuckled, “From the expression on your face … Well, anyway: I expect that your brother handed you my file and told you about the assignment.”

“You…”  Sherlock tried desperately to get control of this situation.  “I actually had your file from MI6 in the course of investigating Sir Edwyn’s assassination. Your file is clearly inaccurate–I told Mycroft that when I saw…” _wait_ … He narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about his being my brother?”

Sebastian snorted, “I asked John if he could describe your brother once he mentioned him, and then confirmed that he used the code name Antarctica.  As to why I suspected?  Several reasons including sources I won’t share with you.”

He smirked and turned back to look at John, “You’re right: he’s prettier.”

John howled, “TIGER!” and slapped a hand over his face.

Sherlock felt like the ground kept shifting under him… “John… said… I was…?”

“I said that Moriarty was good looking.” Sebastian grinned, “He said no he wasn’t, but you were.”  He slapped John on the back–carefully avoiding jostling Rosie– and continued, “Also I think that your ‘get away from my boyfriend’ look is pretty telling.”

“What?!” John sputtered at about the same time Sherlock tried to protest.

Sebastian walked over to Sherlock and looked him over in a frankly appraising fashion. “I think you treated John horribly, but he’s been pretty much out of his head too as far as I can tell, so I’m willing to put a lot down to ‘this Euros person messed with all of you’ and tell you both to get  relationship counseling as opposed to  restraining orders.”  He laughed, “And just to reassure you:  I already promised JOHN I wasn’t going to try to steal YOU away from HIM, so you don’t have to worry about me trying to run off with TC or anything–he isn’t into men anyway, just you apparently.”

Sherlock tried to say something, anything, and nothing came out. _John… was afraid of… him running off with ME?  He’s… interested…?_

John walked up and pushed Rosie into Sebastian’s arms. “You’re a menace!”

“Yes? You knew THAT since we met, TC…” he bounced Rosie carefully, “Your papa is an idiot, Rosie, but that’s ok… Uncle Tiger will find a nice explosion, or a murder, or a war zone, for the two of them.”

 _He’s trying to set us up? But he KNOWS John…_ “John… isn’t gay…” Sherlock felt like the universe had come slightly unmoored somehow.

“Nope, he isn’t, but you’re his type–allowing for the gender issue– and I told him you two just need to talk and work that out.”

“I’m… uh… married to my work…” Sherlock risked a glance at John, and found him alternately glaring at Moran and sneaking sideways glances at him…

“Well, either you two can figure out a relationship WITH sex… or you need to figure out how to manage a relationship where John gets his sex somewhere else.” He looked firmly at them both, “NOT cheating–polyamory or open arrangements are a thing, you know?  I just had to have nearly this same chat with my new boyfriend.”

Sherlock found himself sitting down on the sofa–his legs didn’t seem to be working. “You… seem fairly certain that John wants a relationship– like that– with me.”

John sat down next to him. “You’ll have to forgive Sebastian–he’s an asshole and has no tact… never realized how much you two have in common.” John cleared his throat and said the impossible, “You’re both usually right, too.”

“What?”  Sherlock tried to deduce what he meant but it kept coming up… _not possible._

“I… don’t like men that way–I’m not gay–“

Sebastian chimed in, “You mean you aren’t Bi… although you didn’t object to a guy in bed with you as long as a woman was there…” and he walked into the kitchen, “You two keep talking…”

“What?  John?!”

John sat back on the sofa and cursed vehemently in Pashtun. “Fine!  I still need counseling because… I get these angry spells where I want to hit you, and I mean HURT you, Sherlock… but… yeah, I always found you attractive... and would have a hundred times rather married you than Mary… I just… guys don’t do it for me?”

“I… can’t imagine anyone else I would rather spend my life with.” Sherlock said quietly. “But… uh… sex isn’t my… area…”

“Sebastian was talking about that… um… chaste marriages or trying to … make it work with a guy anyway… or having… “

“Polyamory?”  Sherlock latched onto something less anxiety inducing, “That’s a combination of Greek and Latin… it’s all wrong!  That prefix doesn’t go with–”

John started laughing and fell onto his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, there’s a meme for that… I… I’m not comfortable with anything that feels like cheating, but… Seb’s right: I did end up in bed with a few three ways…”

“Three…or four… or five…” Sebastian came back in with Rosie. “I ordered in take-out; should be here soon.”

“We shouldn’t even talk about this in front of my daughter.” John sighed and got up to take her back.

“One: she’s too young to understand any of it, and two: clearly negotiated relationship boundaries are healthy.” Sebastian handed her over and sat down in the visitor chair.

“You said new boyfriend?” Sherlock tried re-focusing the conversation on Sebastian, and Sebastian… hesitated?

Sebastian held up a hand before Sherlock could ask anything else and  he sat there thinking for a  minute. “I’m still pretty sore over a lot, and your brother was hip deep in it.” Sebastian finally said. “So I have some issues trying to figure out how much to tell you.  I trust JOHN with it, but… I don’t know you.”

Sherlock considered… “Fair.” He nodded. “If I gave my word not to speak to Mycroft about it?”

He raised an eyebrow, “John implied the flat was bugged.”

“Ah… well… yes… it’s… not supposed to be any more, but…”

And because the universe hated Sherlock Holmes–personally– that was the moment that he heard Mrs. Hudson showing his brother in.


	10. Petunia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft walks in on a Tiger in his brother's flat. Uncomfortable discussions follow, along with a few surprises.

Mycroft knew that Sherlock, however much their relationship had improved, didn't really like having him in his flat: Watson liked having him around even less, of course. But however unpleasant this visit might be; his brother was the chemist- the only chemist he trusted right now. _Hopefully Watson's friend being present would force some civility._

He heard voices as he came up the stairs and then Sherlock calling out, "Everyone is in MY home–and Mrs. Hudson’s– and no matter how difficult it may be I expect everyone to be civil!"

"Why do you feel the need to–” Mycroft was starting to ask as he walked in.

John turned and frowned at him and...Colonel Moran was sitting in a chair holding young Rosamund.

"Mister Holmes." Colonel Moran voice was....cautious, but far less hostile than might be expected.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Colonel? What are you...” he ran through several possibilities and narrowed it to two: _he was either here to threaten Sherlock in my stead, or...he was Watson's military friend Tiger_. _Given that Watson was expressing no concern–was quite comfortable with him..._ "Ah...Tiger I presume. However did we miss that...?”

Moran raised an eyebrow. "Likely because we never served together."

"Ah..." Mycroft felt more ill at ease in the flat than he usually did with both Watson and Moran there: Watson in specific looked very threatening.

Moran suddenly shifted Rosamund to one arm and grabbed the doctor’s shoulder. "It's MY shot to take, if I chose to...not yours TC."

 _TC? Nickname…_ Mycroft ran through the intelligence debriefs from Watson’s service mates: _‘Three Continents Watson’–Moran abbreviated that to TC.  They never served together so it was unlikely we ever would have found out that ‘TC’ and ‘Tiger’ knew each other by any means short of intercepting their mail… If Colonel Moran’s mail had been intercepted as part of his security review or discharge–likely– it would not have tripped any flags as long as he wasn’t telling him anything secure…_ Mycroft filed it away to be used against Crescent if he said even one word about non-military security reviews. _Moran had just anticipated Watson’s reaction and… stopped him: why?_

Watson unclenched his fists slowly, "Right...right...he...didn’t know…"

“He was also the only one of the three who saw fit to give me a warning..." he turned to look at Mycroft again, "I haven't QUITE decided how I feel about you...but you’re the best of a bad lot at least."

Mycroft felt the situation out cautiously; he was compromised and unable to deduce as quickly as he would like and Moran was potentially deadly. “Am I? You seemed… quite hostile on our last conversation…”

“I had just found out that I was bait, Mister Holmes– disposable bait. If I had been–”

He shook his head firmly. “You...were not: The person we were told to expect was.” Mycroft was once again struck by how unlike Sir Edwyn’s description the man was.  “I realized immediately that you were...not at all whom we had been led to expect.”

“Then why didn't you say anything?”

“I said what I felt I could: I warned you; I also agreed that you should have a better cover identity...and I spoke to my fellows about hiring you afterwards.”

“Hiring me?! After THAT?”

“No, after what should have been a far simpler assignment.” Mycroft held onto his umbrella, the familiar handle a security under his fingers. “And I'm afraid that I was both busy, and considered personally compromised, so I was not involved in the mission once it was underway–which meant I had no idea which agents had been sent other than yourself.”  _God that was a disastrous choice…_

Mycroft blinked as he felt a hand on his elbow and found Sherlock guiding him to sit down. “You were a bit off balance.” Sherlock said quietly.

“A side effect of the drugs that have been put in my medication, I am afraid; especially in combination with the medication I was supposed to be taking.”

“What’s this?” Watson frowned, ever the doctor.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “I thought testing of your medication was going to take at least a day, possibly two?”

“The testing is not back yet, nor could it be,” Mycroft nodded, “I took the simpler tack: an associate and  I went to the pharmaceutical labs in MI6 that compound my medication.”  He couldn’t quite stop the small vicious smile as he remembered the terror on the pharmacist’s face as they’d gone through the records.

Sherlock winced, “Ah… yes, well, I should have thought of it…”

Moran was standing very still… “No one can think of everything. You were drugged?  Was this more of that Euros’ business, or an unrelated problem?”

“THAT we do not yet know. The orders appear to have come from Sir Edwyn–I find myself quite irate that he died before I could ask him several pointed questions.”

Moran nodded, “He died too quickly and that’s for certain.  What kind of drugs?”

“That is why I was here to speak to Sherlock, Colonel: I have no reason to involve you in it.”

“I AM involved in it.” Moran said firmly. “you lot got me involved in it when I was chosen to be your sacrificial lamb–or tethered goat– and possibly before that when I got thrown into MI6 until they could  find a convenient way to kill me.”

“Are you serious?!” Watson‘s eyes widened and he looked to Sherlock– _as he hasn’t in months, perhaps years_ – for confirmation.

Sherlock asked silently, _IS that what was going on?_

“I… did not involve myself in Sir Edwyn’s department unless I was asked.” Mycroft had to admit.

He tried to focus his mind and considered: “Given his description of you–which was highly inaccurate and negative but he seemed to believe it–I think he may indeed have been trying to find a way to be rid of you.”

Watson began predictably protesting angrily, but Moran spoke more deliberately while watching Mycroft carefully, “_ _He_ _ may have been? But not the rest of you? The ones I spoke with?  Because the other two did their best to drive me to quit–or fly home and strangle them– before I made any contact with the target.”

Mycroft looked at the man– _Yes, he was very dangerous, and I was on thin ice with him, but… he was trying to understand?_ – “I… trust you understand that NONE of this goes any further?”  He glanced at his brother and Watson as well.

They give their assent readily enough, but Moran surprised him again: “I won’t lie to you–well, I might lie to YOU, but I have the impression it wouldn’t work well, and I won’t lie to John.  I already told you I have some safety precautions in place in case someone decides to have me quietly removed: I will very likely tell them anything you say.”

“I… will ask you to use the utmost discretion in doing so, then, and only tell them what you need to for your own safety.”  Mycroft didn’t have the energy to argue it any further: the alarmed look that crossed Sherlock’s face at his response was rather telling.

“For my safety, and the safety of my fellows, yes.” Moran nodded. “If it’s not relevant to that I won’t say anything–without permission– as long as I have the same assurance from you: none of this goes any further without permission.”

Mycroft decided it was the best he was likely to get and nodded. “Agreed then. Can we all get a bit of tea and… perhaps some of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits, and sit down?”

Moran looked around thoughtfully and handed Rosamund off to John. “I’ll go ask about some treats or something–maybe something a bit more solid too:  you start the kettle?”

Watson nodded and went into the kitchen; Moran went out and down stairs.

“What were they putting in your medication?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“More a question of what were they putting in which medication, and how badly did it interact with what I was taking, or alcohol…It seems very fortunate that the family inherits a strong liver.”

“Certainly so in my case,” Sherlock nodded, “However that doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Rather than repeat it again I think we should wait for everyone to be present.”

“Why are you accepting that limit from Colonel Moran?” Sherlock looked toward the door, “It’s quite unlike you.”

“Partly because, as I said, he has reason to be furious with all of us and yet he is willing to deal with me–at least in theory: partly because I would hate to lose a valuable asset.”

Sherlock snorted, “Yes, and he’s quite good looking and very intelligent.”

“I am hardly going to make intelligence decisions based on anything so superficial, Sherlock!”

“Well, I like him: he’s good with Rosamund.”

John walked in with the child at that. “He’s very good with her, and he helped me get her changed and fed and YES we wrote it all down for your notes, Sherlock.”

The two of them spent some time going over notes before Rosamund was put down for a nap. It wasn’t that long after that before ‘Tiger’ came back up the stairs with a plate of Mrs. Hudson’s treats–chocolate squares of some kind this time– and a carry out bag from the sandwich shop.

“I don’t know about you, but heavy discussions call for something a bit more nutritious than brownies… although these look pretty good…”

“Blondies.” Sherlock said after looking over, “or rather Mrs. Hudson makes a mixture of Blondie and Brownie batter and marbles them–excellent!” He helped himself to two.

Moran set two of them aside in a small container and then helped to serve everyone and bring in the tea–he’d gotten fairly bland fare from the shop, Mycroft was glad to see: his stomach wasn’t up to much else.

Moran started the conversation: “So… I was talking to John most of yesterday and overnight, and if even HALF of what he told me about recent events is true… well everyone present is compromised, badly,” He shrugged, “with the exception of myself.  The added factor is that I know John, and have some idea what he was like before and what this person could have leveraged… but I don’t know you two.”

“I would be interested in your conclusions, Colonel…”

He nodded. “I’ll want John’s clearance to talk to you about some of it; it’s his business…but first: You said you were getting medication, and it was tampered with?  I assume you have it filled at a secure facility?”

“Yes, all of the Ultra clearance individuals have our medication through MI6.” Mycroft sighed, “As do many other high security personnel.”

“And it was tampered with…”

“Yes.”

“Hypnotics?” Moran asked thoughtfully, and both Sherlock and John sat up.

 _The man was certainly sharp_ –and Mycroft remembered how close to a number of interrogation missions the man had been: he likely knew a great deal about the topic. “That… was in my migraine medication, yes; my other medications were dosed with other drugs in a related family.”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “It would have made it MUCH easier for Euros to manipulate you…”

Mycroft handed the pharmaceutical paperwork to Sherlock and he began reading through it and making notes.

“John,” Moran looked over, “You told me you were depressed, especially after Sherlock ‘died’; were you given anything?”

“Anti-depressant… and…” John stopped and started swearing, “You think that was tampered with?”

“I’d test that… but… the more I think about it, no. It’s really easy to dose someone who ISN’T living in a security bubble, TC, you know that.” He looked around and asked thoughtfully, “You were drinking more, right?”

Watson looked quite uncomfortable but nodded. “Mostly beers after work, sometimes with Greg, but…”

“Same place most of the time?”

“Sure.”

“Easy enough to get something into your drink.” Sebastian nodded and looked at Sherlock, “From what John said, you’d be the tough one: you don’t eat or drink on a regular schedule.”

“True.” Sherlock looked up from the paperwork and continued, “I have, however, discussed with my brother that my own behavior and thinking has been… off. The difficulty is determining how much of that is… response to experiences and how much is deliberate tampering.”

Mycroft added by way of explanation: “Once Sherlock determined that Sir Edwyn had been compromised–by both Moriarty and Magnusson– it became evident how my pills could have been tampered with.”

“Well, John told me that you took Moriarty to see her…”Moran frowned. “Which sounds really strange from several directions.”

“I did,” Mycroft nodded, “A horrible idea in hindsight–Sherlock and I have considered whether that may have contributed to his erratic behavior toward the end– likely another case of my being persuaded to believe something was more reasonable than it was…”

“Did any of the other –Ultra clearance you called them– people have contact with her?”

“Not directly, no.”

“Are you SURE?”

Mycroft considered. “No.” He stirred his tea and felt that creeping depression of overlooking things–again. “No, I cannot be certain; I can only say they were not supposed to.”

Sherlock nodded at Moran, “Then we must assume they did come into contact, at least some of them. Certainly Lady Smallwood was aware she existed.”

“Currently one of the top people on my ‘reasons to quit any and all work for England’ list.” Moran grumbled and the angry hostile edge returned to the surface.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “To get back to why I couldn’t call a halt to matters when it became obvious you were not what we expected: my own status is… damaged.”

Mycroft sighed–he was so very tired of it all–and looked up at Moran. “As you may imagine, having the situation at Sherringford,” he looked between the two military men– _yes, Watson had explained it_ – “go so very badly under my watch caused issues: my position is quite tenuous.”

“It didn’t look it at the briefing…” Moran said calmly, but there was that same undercurrent of anger and danger that was undoubtedly what terrified poor Equinox.

“I would hope that we could present a united front when called to,” Mycroft nodded, “As it is? Love–Lady Smallwood– is a supporter of mine of a sort, but even she was of the opinion that my judgment was suspect– which is why she took point on the mission, and thus the disastrous choice of agents to follow after you…”

Mycroft decided on a gamble _: the man would likely react enough to be read at least_ … “Sending that specific female agent was the worst possible choice: was she actually killed by the target or did you kill her Colonel?”

Mycroft didn’t expect Colonel Moran to simply raise an eyebrow at him, say, “I did,” and go back to his tea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.serenataflowers.com/pollennation/10-flowers-never-give-anyone/


	11. Petunia part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for anger issues, discussions of drug use and non con drugging of people, etc.

Sebastian hadn’t expected to deal with Antarctica again so soon, but… the more he talked, the more Sebastian watched him over a small meal, the more evident it became that he was unwell. His hands trembled whenever he held anything–more so if he was tense– and the light in the flat showed a slightly off tone to his skin that hadn’t been evident in the briefing.

He had to work very hard to keep his own anger in check as they discussed things–hell, he’d had to grab John before he took a swing at the man, and that before the discussion really started–but… it seemed like he’d been jerked around too.

 _So, Mycroft Holmes had been drugged… to make it easier to manipulate him and influence him… how many others?  Was James?_   Sebastian spoke through the odds and ease of access with them: anyone getting their medication filled by MI6 was likely drugged; John didn’t need anything that fancy–easy enough to slip it in his beer–but they should probably check; Sherlock was the difficult one since by all account he didn’t eat or drink on a regular schedule…

James… had had no contact at all after his death–or so he thought: that would have to be checked and THAT was going to be more difficult.

According to Mycroft the other Ultra clearance people were ‘not supposed to’ have dealt directly with Euros, but ‘not supposed to’ was a phrase more observed on paper than in practice in Sebastian’s opinion.

Mycroft spoke frankly about how much his own reputation and status had suffered when his sister had been discovered to be dangerously active outside of the jail–and in control of it from what John said.  Of course how much of that was honest concern about Mycroft’s capabilities by the rest of them and how much of that was trying to get rid of him, or improve their status: who could tell?

He was rather deep in thought when Mycroft said, “Sending that specific female agent was the worst possible choice: was she actually killed by the target or did you kill her Colonel?”

 _Well, time for a test_ :  “I did.”

Mycroft’s reaction was merely to sit back and murmur, “Unexpected of you to admit it…” but John’s reaction was a bit more… loud.

“What?!  Wait, why would you kill an MI6 agent?!” John was sputtering.

Sherlock just sighed, “As my brother just said: she was the worst possible choice for dealing with Colonel Moran.”

Sebastian put his tea down. “Because she treated me like something to scrape off your shoe, and VERY honestly I expected they had orders to clean ME up as well as the target–especially given how she acted toward me: I considered it self-defense.”

“You… were not sitting peaceably with your target, were you?” Mycroft looked at him thoughtfully, “What actually happened?”

“No.” Sebastian looked Mycroft in the eyes, “The report I gave was designed to put all the blame on the target: as to what actually happened? Let’s see if you keep confidence on that first.”

Sherlock hesitated and then said, “Moriarty is DEAD… I saw him put the gun to his mouth and pull the trigger.”  He sat back slowly, “My brother over reacted owing to recent events with Euros and the recordings…”

“Likely.” Sebastian nodded, “and being drugged.”  He shrugged, “So what EXACTLY turned this Moriarty character into the boogeyman?”

“He threatened John.” Sherlock answered and Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh.

“It was hardly amusing.” Mycroft put his hand out to Sherlock’s sleeve.

“It’s bloody hysterical!” Sebastian laughed, “John? TC?  If you wanted the man taken care of all you had to do was leave John alone in a room with him for a few minutes–assuming he didn’t just deck him, thank him for the excitement, and go off to dinner with Sherlock there…”

John put a hand over his face, “It was… distinctly unpleasant, Tiger: besides, the man threatened innocent people and killed a poor old blind woman–and that’s before he poisoned the ambassador’s kids.”

“Oh, not saying he didn’t need to be stopped,” Sebastian shrugged. “He obviously did, but…” he looked at Sherlock, “You got that bent out of shape over him threatening TC?”

“Yes, and why do you keep calling him TC?”

John cut in, “Old military nickname–never mind.”

Sebastian shook his head, “Look, Sherlock: John LIVES on threats and adrenaline! Back in the day he didn’t consider it a good morning until he’d had a cup of tea and a chance to ream out some idiot or get shot at!”

“Well… I developed an aversion to being shot at…” John rubbed his shoulder.

“No you didn’t: you developed an aversion to being hit!” Sebastian snorted, “I read your blog: you bloody loved being shot at!”

“In ANY event,” Mycroft raised his voice just a hair–he had a remarkably commanding voice when he bothered–“Sherlock was concerned about his friend, and… Moriarty levied some threats about a terrorist attack and he was taken in to interrogation…”

“I take it that’s where you found out about his lethal allergies?”

John and Sherlock both frowned. “What lethal allergies?”  Sebastian honestly couldn’t tell who said it–maybe they both did.

“Apparently the real Moriarty was lethally allergic to whatever drug the two MI6 agents brought with them: if he wasn’t Moriarty he’d talk, and if he was he’d die.” Sebastian frowned, “At least that’s what I heard them say.”

John flinched, “That’s… cold.”

“It was the only way I could think of to conclusively prove his identity.” Mycroft said very quietly. “He’d managed to exchange the fingerprint card in our records, somehow.”

“What’s this?”

“Ah… we told you there had been no autopsy, but that was not in fact true:  the body we autopsied matched the fingerprints in interrogation records.” Mycroft sighed and put a hand over his eyes. “However once the lookalike was spotted in Wisconsin, I went over it again: the fingerprint card had been altered or replaced.  The body’s fingerprints matched the fake card, not the real one.”

“How–”

“I have an extraordinary memory, as does Sherlock, Colonel: I remembered the small scars on his fingertips from the actual card–they were gone.”

“You can remember a set of FINGERPRINTS?” Sebastian glanced at John and John nodded.

“I didn’t think that would be believed by my fellows–my judgment was suspect and… well, I didn’t think I would be believed,” Mycroft resumed fidgeting with his plate. “But upon going through the other files I found another discrepancy: the autopsied body had been heavily damaged in the face by the gunshot–Sherlock’s later report mentioned an undamaged face.”

“I didn’t manage to file a report until much later.” Sherlock added, “I was busy hunting down the snipers endangering my friends…”

Sebastian sat back. “Honestly? I’m torn between wanting to beat you to death with your own umbrella–I wouldn’t bother drawing the blade– and forgiving you because you tried to warn me… that and you weren’t the one calling me up and trying to get me killed.”

“I doubt they were trying to get you killed, Colonel–I had already told them that I wanted to hire you if…”

“If I survived?”

“…basically.” Mycroft winced and John growled.

Sebastian put his hand out to rest on John’s arm. “TC…” 

John grumbled and finally went off with Rosamund, “I’ll ask Mrs. Hudson to watch her; she shouldn’t hear so much swearing anyway.”

Once John went out Sebastian looked over at the two men, “I am trying to keep MY temper in check, because it seems like everyone has been manipulated and possibly drugged.  John needs therapy and some serious blood tests–he’s not well– and both of you need to find out who’s behind the drugs, because even if it started with one person…”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “MI6 was involved… several people are aware or involved in this and may have their own agenda, or might have been manipulated by Euros into thinking it was their own idea.”

“Sir Edwyn might have been able to provide answers but he is now dead.” Mycroft looked thoughtfully at Sebastian, “It was evident that you wanted Sir Edwyn dead…” He cleared his throat, “but I don’t see how you could have been involved.”

“I wasn’t: I didn’t even know he was dead until Sir Garvie told me.  I was in a modestly comfortable prison cell waiting to be poisoned or shot.”

“You were not in any danger…”

“Perhaps not from YOU, Mister Holmes, but you have already stated you only _present_ a united front: Sir Edwyn obviously wanted me dead; Lady Smallwood certainly seemed hostile, as did Sir Garvie.”

“He… Equinox has had severe trauma of some kind from his time in jail–you trigger it as far as I could tell.”

“So how did someone like him end up with Ultra clearance?”

“We needed him back.” Mycroft sighed, “He should never have gone to jail, but there were some real charges and some… manufactured.”

Sebastian tried to keep his knowledge to himself, but it wasn’t unreasonable to make a few deductions… He looked thoughtfully at Sherlock, “Trumped up charges like Sherlock’s?”

Sherlock sat forward, “Likely from Magnussen.  Sir Edwyn appeared to be reporting to Moriarty –before he shot himself–and being blackmailed by Magnussen.”

“So… were Moriarty and Magnussen working together at some point? From what John said… I would think Magnussen would hire Moriarty to keep his hands clean…”

Both Sherlock and Mycroft looked stunned and then started staring at each other… then they were talking rapidly in disjointed sentences and Sebastian decided to go walk into the kitchen before he shook one of them.

Once he was in the kitchen he re-filled the kettle and sent a text to James: “These two Holmes boys are infuriating–yes both of them are here.”

He got a nearly immediate reply: “Be careful! If they are actually working together they are even more dangerous!”

“MH has been drugged in his medication, possibly to make him easier to manipulate–by MI6 pharmacy.  Any of the rest are presumably also drugged and influenced.  COULD you have been?”

There was a long pause, “During interrogation, certainly: I know I was drugged.  After?  Unlikely but possible.  After I left the country? No…” 

Then before Sebastian could reply James sent another text: “I… have been better since I moved?  Maybe I was being drugged…”

“The only hard one to drug is SH.”

“? Easy peasy, he uses a small number of drug suppliers– if he relapsed at all he’s easy to get to.  Also 221 is not secure–I broke in.  Easy to tamper with Mrs. Hudson’s ingredients.”

Sebastian stared at that and strode back into the room: “Do you have a chemical review team you can trust?”

“Yes?” Mycroft frowned, “Who were you texting?”

“A tactician friend of mine: what if someone put drugs into Mrs. Hudson’s ingredients?  COOKING would break it down, but is there anything she serves cold?”

Sherlock sat up, “Mrs. Hudson would NEVER–”

Mycroft interrupted, “Not deliberately, Sherlock, but he’s quite right: if someone tampered with something in her pantry, or when she went shopping?”

Sebastian frowned at the Blondie’s, “No cold glaze on them so anything not deliberately added was cooked, but if her flat isn’t secure someone could dose anything after cooking…”

Mycroft looked toward the door, “This building is secure against… mundane intrusion: we are not concerned with anyone mundane, however.”

John came back in without Rosamund, “So that’s…” he frowned, “Oh now what?”

Sebastian went over it again quickly while Sherlock went downstairs to search Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

Sebastian paused  once they’d brought John up to speed and then looked at the two of them, “John implied Sherlock had some pretty heavy relapses leading up to this whole thing…”

“Unfortunately.” Said Mycroft.

“Yes.” John gritted his teeth, “And… I find myself getting unreasonably angry… even talking about it…”

Sebastian frowned, “Trigger–instead of being sympathetic and trying to help you’re getting angry…”

John spun and punched the wall–hard.  Sebastian grabbed him before he could do more damage.  John turned toward him and pulled his fist back and Sebastian took him to the ground.

“John… THINK!  Is that how you take a swing at me? Is it?”

John slowly stilled; Sebastian could see Mycroft watching thoughtfully from the corner of his eye, but he had to pay attention to John.

“No… that… that was a shitty shot: if I wanted to fight you that was stupid…”

“Post hypnotic suggestion or something–you want to hit and hurt someone, but you aren’t going into your training… I know you, TC, you can do a hell of a lot better job than that, and I shouldn’t be able to take you down that easily.”

John was lying calmly by that point. “Yeah… I just… I was utterly furious and I wanted to hit…”

“Can I let you up?”

“Yes…” Sebastian let him up and John shook himself out. “but…” John looked thoughtfully between Sebastian and Mycroft, “If I got that angry for no reason I don’t think I’m safe.”

“If you’ve been keyed to react like that?” Sebastian shook his head, “No, but KNOWING about the triggers can help…” he looked at Mycroft who was watching with laser like intensity, “Do you have any counter conditioning experts that Euros is unlikely to have gotten to?”

“Yes.  Not in London, however.”

“I suspect all of you need to get some kind of help, but… John always had a temper–almost as bad as mine–and this is…”

Mycroft nodded, “Acute, or urgent if you prefer: we all need some degree of help, however, I agree.”

“If Sherlock buys his drugs from the same sources routinely,” he looked at the lab equipment scattered about, “or the ingredients for it, his drugs could be contaminated with something just like your medication was–I would suggest strongly that you take that up with Sherlock…” he looked apologetic at John, “Without TC present:  discussions of addiction and relapse seem to be one of his triggers.”

John nodded, “clearly… I… shouldn’t have reacted that way… and…” he sagged into a chair, “Remember I said I beat him?” Sebastian nodded, “It was after he got pulled out of a drug den…”

Mycroft very slowly murmured, “Burn the heart out of you…”

“What?”

“What Moriarty threatened at the pool… that he would burn the heart out of Sherlock… I find it very concerning that making John more abusive and dangerous would come very close to that–Sherlock was and is very attached to Doctor Watson…”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian looked thoughtfully at Mycroft, “I don’t know if that has anything to do with it, but… I expect you told her about the problems with Moriarty even before you took him to see her?”

“Yes, I believe I did…” Mycroft cleared his throat again and fidgeted, “my… recollections seem clear with regard to Euros, but I find… errors.”

“Hypnotic adjustments,” Sebastian nodded. “Implanted memories… the kind of stuff that’s really hard to do with someone who isn’t suggestible, but–”

“If I was made suggestible in addition to Euros’ native talents?  Yes, it’s quite possible my memories have been tampered with.”  Mycroft looked lost and his hand was shaking on his umbrella: Sebastian started feeling sorry for the man.

“Yes, well…” Sebastian stood up, “I’m going to suggest you treat the rest of your cohort as being lethally dangerous–either for their own reasons or for reasons they THINK are their own– and start treating yourself for drug withdrawal.”

“I hardly need treatment–”

Sebastian pointed to his umbrella, “Your hands are shaking, you’re sweating, and your color is off: between the medicine you knew you were taking–which may have withdrawal symptoms anyway– and the stuff you were dosed with?  You need medical supervision or at least someone keeping an eye on you.”

He turned to John, “And so do you.”

“Me?!” John started looking angry again.

“John:  you were very likely drugged… you don’t think you have to be supervised while you make sure it’s out of your system?”

“…oh…yeah… why did that… make me so angry? That just makes sense…”

“I suggest you journal–off line, or secured– anything that triggers rage.” Sebastian nodded, “but I’d be willing to bet any implied criticism of your drinking would do it–that makes sure you keep going to the pub and drinking… and alcohol makes you lose your temper more anyway.”

He watched John fight down an adrenaline response even to his discussing it.

“I… think you’re right and I have to go hit something!” John snapped.

“If you leave the flat you’ll go straight to the bar to ‘calm down’.” Sebastian said and John started snarling abuse at him.

He started with going on about Sebastian trying to keep him from going out with his friends for a drink. Sebastian just stood there and listened–it was like TC, but not quite:  he went on about ‘controlling’ and ‘rude’ and ‘superior’ and a lot of other things that only marginally made sense… Sebastian glanced at Mycroft and saw Mycroft nodding slowly.

“You done yet, TC?”  It was easier to keep his own temper in check when John’s behavior was so obviously not normal.

“Fuck. You.” John snarled and stalked off to grab his jacket. “I’m taking a walk before I hit you for real!”

Mycroft started to say something and Sebastian waved him back: he didn’t move until John slammed the door behind him on the way out.

“I understand you control a lot of the CCTV cameras, Mister Holmes; I suggest you follow him and watch anyone who gives him a drink, food, or anything else.”

“You think he will head to the pub…” Mycroft started typing into his phone.

“I think he will,” Sebastian nodded, “NONE of that was what he would normally throw at me–I’ve heard him go off on a tear at me before– that was rote.”

“It was the type of verbal abuse he used against Sherlock–not entirely without justification, but still…”

“Triggers.” Sebastian frowned. “The pub is the obvious choice to drug him, but there may be someone who just happens to bump into him… easier if the bartender puts something in his drink; of course if the bartender is SIS of some kind he may KNOW he’s dosing his drink–even if he doesn’t know what he’s dosing it with…”

“I appear to have been triggered to develop a migraine, and thus take my migraine medication.” Mycroft sighed, “And later to add sedatives and alcohol… in addition to the medication prescribed for my blood pressure and cholesterol,” Mycroft winced, “We now have questions about how much ANY of my medication was needed…”

“Migraines?” Sebastian nodded, “One of the lads got sent back to work a desk because of those–horrid things, and easily triggered by stress so… yes, easily triggered by a post hypnotic suggestion.”

“John is being tracked… I have to oversee this personally since I cannot trust my staff.”

Sebastian nodded, “I’m going to go kip with a friend.” He gave him his phone number, “Call me if you need someone to sit TC for you… or Sherlock…” he paused, “or you.”

“I rather thought you wanted to beat me to death with my umbrella?”

“Kinda got over that… it’s pretty obvious you were drugged, especially after watching TC lose it.”

“I would like to feel offended by that, but… thank you I suppose.”

Sebastian walked out and started the laborious process of losing surveillance and heading back to James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petunias can stand for anger and resentment  
> https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/publications/flowers/flowers.html


	12. Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James has very firm ideas about how to get their minds off of the current problems... ~and we catch up with John Watson

When Sebastian FINALLY got back to James, he found him sprawled in–or across at least– one of the chairs with a glass of wine next to him–barely touched by the look of it.

“First, second, or fifth glass?” Sebastian asked thoughtfully.

“Second: I threw the first one against a wall.”

“At least its white wine?” Sebastian sat down.

“True.  I threw red at wallpaper once…” James didn’t look up–mostly he looked very pensive. “So… they were drugged?”

 “Mycroft Holmes is definitely and evidently drugged–they apparently got some kind of confession or records out of the pharmacy at MI6– dunno about Sherlock, and John?  John isn’t acting normally at all.”

“In what way?” James  sounded distracted but Sebastian assumed he actually wanted an answer.

“He kept getting rages out of nowhere… tried to hit me–did a terrible job of it; he knows how to fight better than that– and went off at me for talking about his drinking…”

“Alcoholics will do that.”

“Yeah, but he went off at me  saying all sorts of stuff he’d apparently said to Sherlock, not the kind of stuff he KNOWS he could go off at me about.” Sebastian shrugged, “he’d also talked to me about beating Sherlock pretty badly… while Sherlock was in a hospital: that is NOT normal for him.”

James sat up slowly and frowned. “Hmmm... no, no it isn’t; decking him one, or even a bit of brawling when he’s well? Sure…”

“Oh hell yes, but not getting enraged over a drug addict back sliding and beating him badly while he’s in the hospital: John is a doctor, no matter what else he wouldn’t do that.” Sebastian shrugged, “He never beat his sister for falling off the wagon, even when she hit HIM.”

“I don’t actually know much about her.”

“She died while Sherlock was… dead.  He wrote me about it: it was one more blow to his stability… as he said: thank God he had Mary.” Sebastian sighed, “He wanted to be close to Harriet–his sister– but she was a mean damn drunk, like his dad.”

James was watching him thoughtfully, “Was he? Johnny boy I mean… was he a mean drunk before?”

“It lowered his inhibitions, but no he wasn’t mean before…not like that.  If you started a fight and he was a few beers in, well… he wouldn’t hold back, but he wasn’t any more likely to start a fight.” Sebastian grinned, “A good bit more likely to swipe the girl you were trying to pick up, though; had it happen to me enough.”

James looked Sebastian over. “How? I mean… how could he swipe a girl from you? You’re gorgeous and he’s… well… I mean he’s not BAD looking but he’s not you.”

“NOW you’re going to turn my head…” Sebastian smirked, “I think it was that adorable harmless look and a bit of a Scots accent that crept in when he’d been drinking? It was catnip to girls–I look a bit scary, I suppose.”

James got up and sauntered over–sauntered or prowled maybe–“Some people prefer a bit of danger. So… I need to get out of my head for a bit…”

“I’m all for it… what did you have in mind?”

“Well seeing as how you can be a ‘bit scary’ I rather thought I’d tie you to the bed and make you beg.”

Sebastian considered, “Well… I’ve never done that… but you can be pretty convincing…” he grinned, “and I could use some stress relief. I’d planed on just shooting someone, but sex sounds lovely. So, being tied down is…a bit beyond my experience: can you explain the details? I know there’s supposed to be some safety things…”

“The first thing is a safeword,” James  damn near crawled into his lap, “It’s a word that means stop because some people do start going ‘no’ and ‘stop’ and not meaning it…”

Sebastian let the man pull his head back, “Alright… what do you suggest?”

“Rappaccini?”

“If you like…” Sebastian reached up and pulled James in close and mouthed at his jaw, “I’m fairly interested in eating you right up, you know…poisonous or not.”

“Bed. Now.” James growled in a register that went straight to Sebastian’s cock–he got up, with James held up against him.

“There are certainly some advantages to a big strong Tiger…” James purred into his neck and wrapped his arms around him as Sebastian carried him upstairs.

Sebastian got them into the bedroom and James ordered him to strip… and dragged a box out of the closet.

“I really should have restocked a lot more, but…” he got out several hanks of neatly coiled rope–it looked like rappelling gear.

“Before we… do anything…” Sebastian was watching the avid gleam in James’ eyes with equal parts interest and trepidation. “You haven’t had any medication or been in a position to be drugged, have you? And you didn’t drink much wine?”

“Not a bit and barely a few mouthfuls… and since you’re a novice at this I’ll rig you with a quick release.”

Sebastian watched as the man apparently tried to macramé his body… “I feel like I should be hauled up and hung near the window with a plant balanced on my head.”

“What?”

“One of those macramé plant hangers” Sebastian  would have waved an arm but James had started with his arms and he couldn’t move them an inch: James had, however, left a tail dangling from one of the knots and assured him that a single tug would free  his arms… with a bit of work: it seemed unlikely.

James snickered, “I didn’t tie you correctly for suspension, but a lot of people enjoy that too…” a cautiously sad look came over his face for a moment, “For this kind of suspension the weight is distributed carefully so there is no strain–not like… not like…”

 _Not like stress positions and interrogation._ He leaned forward as best he could without losing his balance and kissed him– Sebastian was aiming for his forehead and ended up with a mouthful of hair, but he thought James got the idea. “I don’t think either of us wants to talk about that right now, so let’s not.”

James pushed him back upright on the bed and smirked, “You are a gorgeous subject… all those muscles and the contrast of the rope… Someday I will have to get a picture…”

“So? You have a phone…”

“You don’t mind?” James honestly looked surprised.

“James…” once again Sebastian tried to gesture without thinking and was made aware of the restraints–it was equal parts aggravating and sort of interesting, “I think you have far more blackmail material on me than ‘willing to experiment in bed’.”

An endearingly genuine smile crept over his face and he ducked his head… and suddenly he looked younger and adorable and…

“Christ!”

“What!” James startled, “did… did something hurt?”

“No… no… I just watched you turn on the adorable harmless younger-than-I-am look: haven’t seen that since a bar in Europe–from TC…”

James threw his head back and laughed, “I’ve never seen it from him, but admittedly I don’t think chasing across London with Sherlock will bring it out…” that predatory look came back, “But since you don’t mind; I would love a few photos…”

James took pictures, and moved him for better angles, and something about the immobility and the lack of control–or maybe James being IN control– was an incredible turn on…

“I think…” Sebastian groaned, “That you should put the camera down and help me out here…”

“Aw… poor Tiger… all revved up?”

“Yes,” he looked at the gleam in James’ eyes and added, “Sir…”

That got him a growled, “Good boy…” and James put the camera aside and  started stroking a hand over him–not where he wanted him to, though.

“Can you…”

“Certainly I CAN, but I want to hear you ASK… politely…”

Sebastian growled in the back of his throat but managed to get out, “Please?”

“It’ll do for a start…” and he moved him around on the bed–it was so very odd being restrained, helpless, and treated like this, but with care and mixed up with sex.

Sebastian felt a bit light headed, and then James started coaxing and teasing, and running a slicked hand over him… and every time Sebastian tried to thrust it felt like the ropes squeezed him… it was infuriating… and exciting…

“God I love the way you growl, Tiger…” James voice was dark and dangerous, “Let’s hear you roar…” He lowered his head and started licking and just barely touching him with his teeth… enough to get threat and sex all mixed up in Sebastian’s brain…

Sebastian found himself alternately begging to come and begging him to stop, and somewhere  he lost track entirely and was just sensation. James played him with his hands and his mouth and the helplessness and pressure became dizzying in their own right…

Eventually James let him come, and he damn near blacked out.

When he came back James was slowly, very slowly, untying him.  He was also talking but Sebastian took a bit for the words to make sense.

“–never saw anyone hit subspace that hard their first time… can you understand me yet?”

“…yes?” he tried to say yes anyway…

“You got the… call it the ‘high’ that people are chasing with bondage… I’m bringing you down slowly… or up slowly…” James was rubbing and coaxing at his muscles as they were freed from their ropes.

Sebastian felt like he should do something, but it seemed a bit distant so he mostly lay there and let James manage everything.

Eventually the ropes were all gone–Sebastian almost but not quite missed them– and he could move… but James was lying curled up against him and… well there wasn’t any place to go…

~

John found himself in the pub.  Warning bells were going off in his mind because he REALLY hadn’t meant to go there.  In fact, he’d meant specifically to NOT go there in order to prove… Tiger… wrong?

Wait…

Why had he gotten so angry again?  Because… I’m not an alcoholic!  He sat down at a table, or he meant to but he was at the bar?

“Can I just have a coffee, Dan?”

“Not your usual?”

“…no…” John was trying to think… it was like there was a deep groove worn in a path and he couldn’t help but follow it… Dan put a cup of coffee and a beer in front of him.

“Thanks…”

A hand moved and covered his beer. “I thought you didn’t want any?”

“Greg?”  John blinked and looked around, “No… I asked for coffee…”

“I know, I heard you.” Greg Lestrade nodded–and John suddenly realized he had his ‘on duty’ face on. 

In the next few minutes things moved very fast, with police arresting Dan–very politely– while Dan protested and John being taken out and put in a car…

His phone rang–and it was odd that they hadn’t taken his phone…Sherlock’s number?

“Sherlock?  What… what happened?”

“While I was searching Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen you had… you had an incident that your friend described as extremely out of character.” Sherlock’s voice was a bit shaken. “It... sounded like things you’ve said to me… but… you have no reason to say any of that to him…”

“I…” John tried to think… “It’s all a bit… fuzzy… I was angry and I didn’t mean to end up at the pub, but I did… and I swear I just ordered a coffee…”

“Mycroft had you followed: you asked for a coffee and very expressly said you did NOT want ‘your usual’ but the bartender gave you a beer anyway–they think he put something in it.”

 _It was so hard to think…“_ I’m… sorry, Sherlock… I’ve been so angry and I don’t think it’s all me: I told Sebastian that…”

“Yes, he was very firm on that.  You’re being taken to a specialty facility outside of London–well outside I’m afraid… and…I’ll probably be there myself in a few days.”

“What kind of facility?”  Jail likely–or a high security version given how much intelligence information John had in his head.  John winced, “I suppose it’s for the best… but what about Rosamund?”

“Mrs. Hudson and I will take care of her, and… I’ll try to get in touch with Sebastian to take a turn–he seemed good with her.” Sherlock added, “It’s not a jail, John, it’s a facility for agents who have been captured–the only place we have to try to work out what drugs you were given and what kind of programming… although programming is an inaccurate term…”

“No, it isn’t… inaccurate.” John started to relax, “I felt like I was on a pre-set track… like I couldn’t quite get off of it.” 

John took a deep breath, “Sebastian was right you know: you’re still my best friend, and… I want the kind of relationship with you that I normally only think of with women… its…just confusing… and… and I shouldn’t be this angry all the time.”

Sherlock’s voice was firmer and more certain when he replied. “The first step in solving a problem is understanding it.  We… now that we know you have been drugged and influenced, and very likely so have I, we can act.”

“… and Mycroft?”

“Is trying to find out what the withdrawal symptoms are for what he was given… and the amount of alcohol HE was drinking, while still dealing with the political fallout from Sir Edwin’s assassination.”

“God… this is a mess…  I am sorry, really.”

“So am I, John.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Sherlock.”

“I should have seen it–I shouldn’t have needed Colonel Moran to point any of this out.”

“Maybe she told you not to notice, have you considered that?”

“Yes… its… infuriating isn’t the right word.”

“So I’ll see you again soon?”

“Yes. I’ll be coming out to the same facility–Mycroft may be as well– and I will either bring Rosie or… see if Colonel Moran can  babysit her: the entire building is going to be searched and chemistry tested, so Mrs. Hudson will be staying in a hotel for a few days–at SIS expense, naturally.”

“Good…” John let his head fall back on the seat, “good…I… I owe Tiger so much…”

“We all do,” Sherlock agreed, “Even if I would be far more comfortable knowing what actually happened in America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grass symbolizes submission: it seemed suitable


	13. Hyacinth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tigers make great babysitters, but not when they have to go hunting.

Jim found himself staring at the wall over his computer, again.  Last night had been wonderful, but this morning Sebastian had been called back to handle some matter for Mycroft, or possibly for his friend John… _How bizarre is it that he was friends with Johnny boy?_ He had one of his people keeping an eye on things enough to be sure they weren’t just going to assassinate him, but… he had so few people in England anymore.

He’d sworn he would never set foot in England again.  He’d been happy in Madison… mostly. He’d been doing so much better–damn it– and he’d found someone that wasn’t… that didn’t…

Jim didn’t want to think about difficult things anymore; he wanted to plunge his hands into the bloody mess and start pulling strings, but Sebastian said he… may not have been thinking clearly about some things…

He put the pepper sharp petals of a Nasturtium in between his teeth and forced himself to go over it all.

…

It had all started with finding Sherlock–finding him again anyway.  How odd that he’d been dealing with his brother, indirectly, for years before finding Sherlock lying in one of the drug dens he’d just helped a client take over…

He’d been so pretty… so very pretty… and so very addicted.

Jim hadn’t thought much beyond that: he was pretty and was likely to end up trafficked somewhere even as old as he was.  He’d had half a thought of cutting the man’s throat as a kindness and then? Then the place had been swarming with the guard and he’d barely made it out.

They’d had no warning of a raid or a drug bust, but the MET’s finest were there, and ambulances… and before anything else happened  the man he would later know as Mycroft Holmes went in and came out with the pretty thing and took him to the hospital.

Well when a man who may as well SCREAM Secret Intelligence Service and money shows up for something like that? He got intrigued.  Magnussen would have his hooks into the man in a flash… but Jim had been curious enough to stalk them to the hospital, and find the name “William Sherlock Scott Holmes” on intake paperwork.

…And in that moment he found out why he had never been able to find “Sherlock” as a boy: he was CALLED Sherlock, but his first name was properly William.

The boy who’d seen the truth…

The boy he’d tried to find when he was finally able to look…

The boy he’d all but forgotten in the intervening years…

Sherlock turned out to be rich–or at least well off, have an adoring older brother who kept him from ever facing any consequences for anything, have had a prestigious education that he dropped out of, and be throwing it all away on drugs.

Jim almost murdered him right there: how DARE he have everything I’d ever dreamt of and throw it away? How DARE he?!

…

Meeting Mycroft in person was interesting. The man was very nearly his opposite number–far more than Sherlock really–and so annoyingly perfect it made Jim want to scream. Underneath that controlled exterior there was something familiar… it itched and scraped and clawed at the back of Jim’s mind: he didn’t recognize it until far too late–fear. 

The Iceman was afraid.  Afraid  for his brother; afraid of disorder–which made Jim almost  fall over laughing, because chaos was his natural state–and afraid of his sister…

_Once I found out about his sister._

What had taken Jim years to realize was that the Iceman was also afraid of himself.  He had power, and everyone was so stultifyingly STUPID compared to him, that he could easily destroy most people– and it terrified him.

…

Jim poured himself another cup of tea and got out a chocolate treat–it was Mycroft’s favorite and he’d only tried one because of that, but they were good–and forced himself to look at his current thoughts on Mycroft…

Sebastian was right: I’d been attracted to him from the first.  He was so uptight, and powerful… on the surface he was everything I normally used and took apart–rich, abusive, cold: a powerful shell stuffed with money to be cracked open and destroyed.

Under it all?

The thing is even now Jim wasn’t sure what was under that.  Mycroft was OCD, probably–at least anxious–and he loved Sherlock, really loved him… and his sister…

Now that Jim had had years to consider–well years to not think about it and then look at it with fresh eyes and a Tiger– Mycroft had been carrying frightening responsibility for far too long, since he was far too young.  It predated Euros being locked up, although that was likely the last straw…

It was odd thinking of them both developing in response to not having a childhood–for different reasons, but still.

…

Sebastian was…. Sebastian was bewildering that’s what he was.

Jim should be so very much dead, but he’d worked to help keep him alive.  He’d genuinely been attracted to him, and angry at the code name folks–and MI6, and the military, and half of Britain as far as he could tell–but it would have been so much simpler and more understandable to watch Jim die and then report… even if he’d killed the two of them first.

He’d killed her without the slightest hesitation: he’d killed the man with only a brief sigh of regret and then nothing; and he’d cleaned it all up and even Josie and Helen hadn’t gotten a flicker of danger off of the man.

For that matter neither had he, really.  Maybe a glimpse of it when he looked up and first saw me at the restaurant?   It had been there when he was holding a gun and considering… but… when he wasn’t actively thinking about killing you even Jim’s best assessment only told him the man was SAS and had anger management issues: he certainly wouldn’t have registered as the threat he was.

‘Was’, because… for some reason… for some miracle… he… seemed genuine. As long as I didn’t _Betray_ him he was caring, considerate, honest…loyal.

_Damn, I thought that was limited to dogs in real life._

How had those idiots thrown him away like that?  Well, Mycroft probably did get a bad profile, but he even said he…

When Mycroft saw that he wasn’t what Sir Edwin made him out to be he SHOULD have changed the mission. 

Jim scrubbed at his face; I guess it was true that recent events had lost him a lot of status.

And if they had lost him THAT much status he was only still alive because he WAS a genius: politics at that level–international and domestic– were on any weakness with knives out.

Probably no one else realized how much danger he was in…

Of course probably only Sherlock would care.

Euros… might?

…

Jim was dragged out of his thoughts by the door opening, and then the sound of a LOT of packages being brought in… _What the hell had Sebastian bought?_

Jim walked out into the front and froze:  there was a playpen in his living room.  There was a diaper bag, and a playpen, and a small human being…

“Err… everyone is being treated for drug exposure and… well, they’re inpatient and I’m the only one John and the Holmeses are sure wasn’t affected…” Sebastian shifted the very small human to one hip, “Rosamund? Meet James… James? This is Rosamund.”

Jim actually dragged a hand over his eyes and tried looking again–Sebastian was still holding an infant and his living room was still full of baby things.

“That… is a child!  I hate children!”

“THIS is my friend’s baby girl, and he asked me to look after her–besides she’s far too young to be a bully or a threat to anyone.”

“What are you going to DO with it?” Jim was fairly certain he must have been drugged because this did not happen.

“Her,” Corrected Sebastian idly and then made COOING noises at the creature like she was a… a cat or something.  _Wait, that was it!_   “You can take her to Doctor Hooper: I’m sure she adores those things.”

“Doctor Hooper was directly referenced and dragged into Euros’ games and is–”

“What?!”

Sebastian looked up and said, “Oh... you knew her? TC mentioned her but she wasn’t one of your targets…”

“Of course not!  I can’t shoot Molly,” he stared at the man, “Who’d take care of Toby?”

“Toby?”

“Her cat, obviously!”

For some reason Sebastian was staring at him. 

Jim tried to make sense of this. “Why would Molly be involved? She’s a harmless doormat…”

“Because Sherlock cares about her apparently.  They have no idea if Euros ever had direct contact, but she was involved in that mess at the end, so… she’s getting interviewed by expert counter programming people somewhere and so is John, so I’m looking after–”

“But I needed you to SHOOT someone!”

“I’ll get her hearing protectors… no one suspects a man with a nappy bag.”

Jim was struck by that… “That’s brilliant…” then he shook his head, “The ideal situation will be in less than two hours: you can’t get hearing protectors in time.”

“Then either someone else shoots them or you babysit.”

Jim growled, “…what did you say?”

“Am I your PARTNER or your employee?” and there was a glint in Sebastian’s eye that spelled trouble.

“… Partner.” Jim finally said, “I told you I’m not used to it.”

“TC needs my help–someone needs to watch his little girl.” Sebastian looked at him with an expression halfway between ‘I mean it’ and ‘I can kill you and not get blood on the kid’.

Jim pointed out that it was one of the top people on Sebastian’s hit list… He said his obligations, and his word that he would make sure she was safe, came before personal interests.

Well… shit… what can you say to that? 

“Can’t we… find a sitter?”

“Not in time… they have to be security vetted… Look, Sherlock has all these notes and schedules and records… can’t you just follow them? Or even just keep her safe and fed and changed long enough for me to go–”

“What does SHERLOCK have to do with this?”

“He’s her other papa?  He adores her and has this whole scientific thing where he records everything she eats, her moods and sleep, and… apparently plays music for her: there are CDs to play for her and they’re all labeled…”

SHERLOCK… was doing what?  “Let me see these…”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow but gestured to one of the boxes. “That’s the recent notes, the recorded music, and all that.  I spoke to Sherlock when I picked her up and he was VERY emphatic about my being responsible for her–not that he needed to be.”

Jim stalked over and started looking through things.  There were recordings of Sherlock playing music labeled for every possible mood, a set of flashcards–looked like Sherly’s handwriting–and complete documentation as if raising a child was a science project.

_I refuse to be shown up by Sherlock–if he can do it I can do it!_

“Fine… I’ll follow the instructions and you go shoot the man and hurry back.”

“Look, I’m RESPONSIBLE for her; I’m not leaving her here if you–”

Jim glared at him, “I have complete instructions, enough supplies to last for days, and the internet: I’ll be fine.”

…

Less than an hour after Sebastian left Jim was hopelessly stuck to a disposable diaper, had some kind of formula embedded in his rug, and was on the phone to Helen in Madison.

“You have to help!  Look… you have a big family… there have to be instructions somewhere…”

“James, James! Calm down… what’s wrong?”

“…I’m babysitting…and… nothing works!  It’s been just over an hour and I’m down to the last diaper…”

“You… are what?”

“Sebastian is taking care of a baby and he had to go out…”

“He left YOU with a CHILD?!”

“I may have insisted… the instructions looked easy?” Rosamund was suddenly tumbling over the wall of the playpen and Jim barely caught her in time. “Are they supposed to be able to CLIMB?!  She can climb!”

“Well how old is she?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“Okay… okay… lets… can you set up video and an earbud and let me walk you through diapering her?”

~

Sebastian came back a lot later than he’d hoped, but it had been a beautiful shot.  God he loved missions like that– where there were damn few people who could have even  hit the target at all, much less a shot like that– but it had the added benefit of being someone he personally despised at MI6: pulling that trigger had been a personal treat as well as a professional one. Unfortunately it meant that he’d left Rosamund with James for a LOT longer than he’d planned…

There was no one home when he got back.

Sebastian had started to panic and then he found the note on the table: “Went out, took Rose, I’ll pick up dinner on the way back.”

He went out? WITH Rosie?

_Oh my God he’s going to use her as cover to kill someone…_

…

When the door finally opened he was expecting the worst, but he wasn’t expecting James Moriarty to come in with a stroller that rivaled a flashy sportscar and a pile of bags.

James smiled at him happily and pulled off his sunglasses. “How did it go?”

“Beautifully–it was picture perfect and they probably still haven’t figured out where I was set up… uh… is Rosamund alright?”

James pulled the sun shade back on the stroller to reveal Rosamund in completely different clothing than anything that she’d had packed, wearing miniature sunglasses that EXACTLY matched James’. “She’s a little princess!” he said happily… "did you know Prada makes baby things?”

Sebastian stood there blinking for a minute… “Who ARE you and what did you do with James-I-hate-children?”

“I… admit I had some… issues… at first, but then I was trying to look up baby things and I found out that almost all of my favorite designers make children’s items…”  James carefully pulled Rosamund out of the stroller–she was wearing itty bitty glittery shoes.

“You bought… a BABY… designer clothes?”

“Well if she’s going to grow up properly she needs to start appreciating the right image and how powerful it is early,” James said very earnestly. “At the advice of a few of the parents in the park I did get her some more educational toys and things–apparently children need a lot of tactile development.”

Sebastian slowly processed the boxes and bags, “This is because Sherlock was–”

James sniffed, “Sherlock would probably neglect her education in style–he has a great deal, but he doesn’t exactly pass it on– and I don’t think John has been well…”

“No, he hasn’t…”

“Anyway she has excellent genetics backing her up between her mother–wonderful knife woman and a very good shot– and her father–whose shooting is quite–”

“Wait… how much do you know about her mother?”

“Well I HAD hired her–not that that’s unique; I believe the Iceman hired her too–she was a good assassin and she worked freelance at least part of her career.”

“So have you decided you like kids now?” Sebastian asked, trying desperately to get the hang of this.

“No.” James handed her to Sebastian carefully, “I do not ‘like’ children.  This one is acceptable and she needs a sassy gay uncle to make sure she fills in the missing pieces of her education.” James walked off toward the kitchen, “Oh… diaper changing is completely YOUR department Tiger, I bought replacement diapers but I have no intention of dealing with that again.”

“…right… well princess, let’s get you changed and fed and settled down for bed, hmm?”

She was waving her hands toward the kitchen. “Unna Jim.”

Sebastian stared at her: Jim spun on his heel and walked back, “did she just…?”

She made an unhappy hiccupping noise and waved her hands back at James–James took her back and she settled into sucking her thumb.

 James went over and fished out a pacifier for her. “What do those records say about her talking?”

Sebastian went over and carefully wrote down the time and consulted the books. “She’s said mama, papa, and several versions of something like ‘no’… apparently she also has names for several of her stuffed toys although I think ‘sounds’ may be more accurate–she’s a bit of a prodigy, according to Sherlock.”  Sebastian looked up and grinned, “She has NOT said Sherlock, though… just ‘papa’ as opposed to ‘dada’ for John.”

James looked inordinately smug.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Crocus flower has so many meanings, but one of them is cheerfulness and joy... it is also a Springtime flower and thus associated with youth.  
> (Saffron the spice comes from a variety of Crocus flower)


	14. Hydrangea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Sebastian have a chat...  
> (TW: while nothing bad happens 'on camera' they are talking and get into some very nasty things about Jim's background. also the veterinarians are from the first story in the series.)

Sebastian was a bit uncertain about how sex would work with a baby in the house... but she went down to sleep like an angel.

He got into the bedroom, pulled James into his arms, and growled into his ear. “If we keep the noise down, do you think we can…?”

“Why do we need to keep the noise down?”

“Rosie?”

James pulled back and looked honestly bewildered, “I don’t get it?”

“We… don’t want to wake her up?”

James went… blank.  Sebastian had seen it a handful of times… he went over it in his head… “You’re… trying to figure out how you’re SUPPOSED to react, aren’t you?”

A faint hint of color appeared on his face, “… well… yes?”

“You know everything doesn’t have to be… a role, or… whatever.”

“Yeah, yeah it does.” He pulled back and Looked somewhat wary, “I’m… not normal–I don’t know how other people react to things… almost everything is… a role, or…”

“Nah.  I’ve watched you enough,” Sebastian pulled him down to sit on his lap on the bed. “You HAVE reactions–real ones–but I think you keep trying to fit into someone else’s box…”

James snorted, “No I don’t!”

“Then why are you trying to figure out how other people react to that?”

“Because I don’t know how to react to a baby?  I don’t DEAL with them!”

“I doubt you consciously decided to take her out and buy out the Prada shop.”

“… I like designer clothes.”

“James… tell me, HONESTLY, what you thought when you realized I was talking about Rosie and my concern about waking her up?”

He bit his lip, “you won’t like it.”

Sebastian shrugged. “So?”

“You are a very strange man.”

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Sebastian laughed. “I’m officially listed as a sociopath on my discharge papers!”

James stared at him, “You?!  You most certainly are not!”

“Beats me.” Sebastian grinned. “That’s what it says on my psych eval.  Before that my psych evals came back with ‘borderline sociopath’ and a few other nice words like ‘borderline personality disorder’ and ‘extreme violent tendencies’ and ‘anger management issues’.”

He pulled James in hard and started mouthing at his jaw, “I can tell you that last one is true, absolutely… and I already told you I LIKE killing people, and violence…”

James wasn’t reacting the way he had before, and pushed Sebastian back a bit.  He looked up into his eyes thoughtfully. “You aren’t one, I know: I’m a sociopath.”

“Nah.”

“It’s true… officially diagnosed… hell; I committed my first murder before I was twelve.” He muttered, “Well before, really–that was just the first noticeable one.”

“I don’t think you are… but maybe…” Sebastian shrugged. “What has that got to do with my question?”

“You want to know what I thought about… when you talked about us being quiet so we wouldn’t wake Rosie–Rosamund–up?”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn’t know why it would bother you–I would probably have just let her cry. Then I thought if she made too much noise we should just smother her with a pillow, and then I realized that I wanted her to be here tomorrow because I have plans, and if I smothered her she would be dead and…” he took a deep breath, “I have… it’s hard for me to see consequences sometimes?  It doesn’t make sense because I can plan out consequences for my consulting work ten moves ahead, but… back when I was younger I killed someone because… because they hurt me… but I didn’t really want them to stay dead–I wanted them dead right then–but they did stay dead and… and it’s all wrong because I miss them sometimes and I don’t LIKE it… and it makes me want to hurt things but then they go away and … and I don’t want to hurt Rosamund, not really, but I could still smother her with a pillow and then… and then you’d be angry and… she wouldn’t be here to play with, and I’d miss that and …”

Sebastian listened with shock as the words tumbled out of him along with a few tears.  _That… that is NOT normal…_ Sebastian forced himself to listen and feel how distressed James was… he couldn’t really be angry at him– even for saying he thought about smothering Rosie– when it was clear that he didn’t WANT to, but…  Sebastian pulled James into a firm hug and let him babble.

Eventually James was curled up against him, probably exhausted.  Sebastian was pretty certain there was something he needed to say, but God alone knew what it was so he just stayed there with him.

Eventually James mumbled into his chest, “Most people are calling the mental health ward by now.”

“I admit I don’t think that’s… exactly normal… but…”

“But what?”

“Neither am I?” Sebastian kept his mouth firmly shut on the ‘ _I’m more normal than THAT_.’

James looked up at him slowly, “I doubt you seriously would kill someone for… for like…making you spill your coffee.”

Sebastian bit back some snarky replies, “Not usually–I do have a temper and I might well hit them.” He shrugged, “might laugh it off? Depends on what was going on that day.”

“I’ve killed people for… reasons most people wouldn’t: I killed a few kids…”

“Like that kid with the sneakers?”

“I’m still pretty sure he deserved it…” James sighed, “But…he wasn’t the only one, and I don’t… not all the other ones maybe deserved to be killed–just hurt some.”

“You may THINK about smothering Rosie… but it’s not like you have an irresistible urge to, right?”

“…no?” James shrugged, “I don’t want to hurt her, not really.”

 _So I was right, it was okay to leave her with him._ “You can walk out of the house, for instance, if she started crying and you couldn’t stand it.”

James smiled wryly, “I can NOW… not… not when I was younger.”

“You just needed therapy when you were younger–”

James laughed, and the laughter developed a dark edge, “I was hospitalized… for a little while.  I finally fooled most of the doctors into thinking I was okay–one of them knew I wasn’t.”

Sebastian blinked a few times. “What were you hospitalized for?”

“Not reacting right to my foster family all tragically dying in a house fire.”

“I take it you set the fire?”

“Yes.  I was officially sleeping over at a friend’s–they knew better than to deny it– so I figured I would be fine… I actually got locked up because they thought I was… having a breakdown, or… well not reacting right anyway.”

“Ah… they thought you were in denial or shock…”

“Yeah, most of them–some of them were just... Why aren’t you running for the hills by now?”

“…like I said? I’m not exactly normal.” Sebastian considered, “Is… that why you…”

“Why I what?”

“Well, from what I heard you were interrogated, and… I get the impression the Ultra clearance folks don’t play by the rules.” Sebastian stroked down James’ back, “But you don’t seem that upset about it.”

“Oh… I was under Mycroft’s supervision.” James shrugged. “He… he had limits on what he could do because I had failsafes… so they tried to hurt me without leaving too many marks and, of course they tried drugs.”

“You went into anaphylaxis I take it.”

“Yup,” James laughed–and it sounded honestly delighted, “they lost something like 4 days’ time on the time they could hold me while I was in the hospital… I mean they tried to talk to me, but…”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course it did, I had to get what I wanted!…err… oh… you mean pain?  Uh… no? Not that much.  I… look, the one official sit down and discuss I had with a… well…they were a therapist but they were Euros’ therapist...”

“I BEG your pardon?” Sebastian stared at him.

“Well, she doesn’t HAVE a therapist? But she has people who are trained psychology folks who are posted there?  She asked if I’d like to talk to one…”

Sebastian blinked a lot and tried to sort this out, “So…you talked…. To her … uh… pet therapist?”

“Basically?  He said I have a lot of impulse control issues–which I knew– and… a lot of hallmarks of a severely abusive upbringing–which I also knew– and I was either a sociopath or had a lot of issues getting attached to people…”  

James gave him a tiredly crooked smile, “I apparently meet the diagnosis criteria for a lot of the same umbrella of things that she does… except she has a suppressed emotional response–limited emotions and a flattened affect– and I have an exaggerated one but mostly negative…”

“It’s not mostly negative.”

James stared at him, “why would you say that?”

“You may not know how to EXPRESS positive emotions, and I think you may react a bit oddly, but you wouldn’t hurt Molly because it would hurt her cat–”

“I like animals.”

“You like animals and plants…”

“So?”

Sebastian shook his head, “You form attachments, just… maybe not that often with people… hell  you sounded sympathetic about John, even though you don’t like him much, and… I think you just have no idea what to do with ‘liking people’… you like Brown and Blonde though.”

“Who?”

“The veterinarians; I never learned their names… The dark girl and the blonde?”

“The ‘dark girl’…” James rolled his eyes, “is Josephine–Josie– former Military, and the blonde girl is Helen: Helen is who I called for diapering help because she has a huge homophobic family that I would totally exterminate for her but she asked me not to.”

 “Ok… so to go back to the problem at hand: you had extensive dealing with Euros, then? Way more than just a few minutes and recording a few things?” when James nodded Sebastian pointed out as gently as he could that it was very likely he had been drugged.

James shrugged up against him, “Not really–she…” he sighed again, “I don’t think she affected me much, honestly… we… we both wanted the same things up to a point.  I think she wanted me to die for real though, because I had this ‘brilliant’ idea of killing myself to keep them from winning?  Which is dumb.” 

“I think trying to make you kill yourself counts as affecting you.” Sebastian tried to sound reasonable.

Jim had wrapped his arms around Sebastian and kept talking. “Well yes, but she JUST tried to kill me.  It was just… it was just logical, like Mycroft figuring out the only way to determine if it was me was using my allergies–I’m not happy about it, but I would have done the same if… if I was that scared.”

“Scared?”

“Mycroft lives his life scared for Sherlock, and fretting over him, and trying to fix everything.  It comes off as controlling and imprisoning, and it just drives Sherlock further away, but… it’s basically because he’s scared of losing him.” James  paused and then said, “I didn’t realize that at first; it took me a while.”

Sebastian pointed out, “Sherlock panicked because you threatened John–even though John wasn’t that upset. It sounds… a lot alike.”

James sat back again and stared at him with a look of wonder on his face, “That’s why? You think?  I was SO angry at Sherlock for dumping me… so was Euros.  She was angry because Sherlock stopped playing with her and Mycroft left home for school–Sherlock got involved with another boy as a kid– and I was angry because of John!  He wouldn’t … I made these pretty cases JUST for him and he tossed me over for John.”

"Wait, you were BOTH lethally angry because… Sherlock wouldn’t PLAY WITH YOU?” _and was… playing with another boy?  This was almost but not quite funny._

“Err… basically… that and I was angry at Sherlock for throwing away all those things I wished I’d had… I was... I was kind of envious and he didn’t even appreciate it all.”  James suddenly pulled him down to lie on the bed, their legs tangled together. “It took me a long time to realize I was jealous...

“As to Euros…I let her think she had killed me, and I left… and had no contact–not at all.  I let most of my network fall apart and even my most trusted people only knew I had an heir who would handle things.  I implied it was a relative so if anyone does think I look too much like Jim Moriarty they’ll probably put it down to that.”

James sighed, “But… she didn’t need to influence me, Tiger, we’re two of a kind.  She didn’t want to leave me lying around because I was in her way… and I knew I would never be safe after I killed Mycroft’s baby brother–because I hoped he would find a way out but I wasn’t counting on it–so… I died.  No further influence from her needed.”

“She probably drugged you to get you to take the suggestion to kill yourself.”

James just shrugged, “I guess? I’m more concerned about the manic behavior I was having… it came and went... and it really didn’t support her goals? I’ve been wondering if I was getting drugged by someone else.”

 _Just what I need: complications._ “If so we need to find out who and get rid of them,” Sebastian said firmly, “but based on JUST what you said, and what she apparently did more recently? She’s a threat and she needs to be removed.”

“Probably?” James shrugged again. “It sounds like she was a lot more active after I left… I don’t know…”

He curled into Sebastian even more. “I was as close to happy as I’d ever been in Madison.  I could work with plants, and change things around, and I kept my hand in just a bit… and the university was there… and…  I’m glad I met you, but I wish I’d never been spotted–oh and I need to kill that CIA guy and his boss.”

Sebastian tried to keep focused on immediate needs. “What are we going to do about Garvie and Smallwood?”

“I don’t care much about Garvie; if you want we can take him out,” James stretched against him, “I want Elizabeth dead… I want her dead so much…”

“So that’s not just about how she treated me,” Sebastian nodded, “and you called her a hypocrite…”

James pulled himself in and kissed Sebastian slowly, leisurely, in a way that somehow felt insanely dangerous–of course that only turned him on.

“Oh its intensely personal… you see, her husband–dear departed husband apparently– was into the young stuff.  She hired me to cover it up, ‘by any means needed’ up to and including killing off both the victims and the arrangers.”

Sebastian’s eyes went wide, “She… did?” He felt his predatory instincts kick up. _Kids? She wanted them ‘cleaned up’ just to sweep the problem under the rug…_

“Oh yes… She did, and I did–usually just paid them off; I arranged everything for her.” James smiled darkly, “and then handed some of the more provable information off to darling Mags–Magnusson– for blackmail when I got too busy with Sherlylocks… “

Sebastian was thinking about trafficked kids, and that bitch, when James idly commented, “She tried to poison me in interrogation…or rather one of her agents did.”

 _I didn’t need any more incentive, but there it is..._ “She’s next.” Sebastian growled.

“Oh it’s even better, darling,” James voice was pure poison and Sebastian wanted to kill something almost as much as he wanted to hold James down and make him scream his name.

“How is it better?” he managed to get out through clenched teeth.

“She’s  been arranging  her security and so on, and setting up to call you in to see her someplace nice and remote–Mycroft has a favorite warehouse, I think she’ll use that– so that she can talk to you about what you actually saw in Madison, and then have you quietly disposed of…”

“Oh so very much next…” Sebastian’s eyes lit up and violence was running through his veins and it only seemed to encourage James.

“I’ve arranged for all those ‘special security’ people to be mine, Tiger… why not let her try… and then we can spring her own trap on her…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.almanac.com/content/flower-meanings-language-flowers#flower-meanings


	15. Camellia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady smallwood's POV then after the ~ it is Sebastian's POV.

Lady Smallwood had everything arranged: there were two chairs, and a table, and tea… and all of her people at a pleasant remove.  Once Mister Moran arrived she would get any additional information about the assignment and what went wrong out of him, and then have him shot.  She would have preferred to poison him quietly–less messy, certainly– but shooting him could be easily explained as self-defense at the worst, and as yet another MI6 killing at the best..  

It would certainly have been preferable if he had died on the assignment, or been able to be killed quietly by Porlock upon return, but for some reason Mycroft had developed some unrealistic ideas about recruiting the man.  Porlock had been asked for a disposable agent, and now that they were done he should be disposed of.

She thought it was almost a good thing that Mycroft was still busy with the drug issue: he wouldn’t be likely to find out anything suspicious.  He’d worked through the withdrawal symptoms as best he could for several days and finally gone off to the  debriefing center to check on his brother and Doctor Watson just two days ago… he wasn’t expected back for a week, but she had no doubt he would be back in far less time, so her window of opportunity was limited.   

She stood at the table and tried to review the information on Moran, but the situation with Mycroft kept occupying her mind: he wasn’t anywhere near his old capabilities–they’d all known that, Crescent had argued cogently for his retirement or removal after all– but if the drugs were partially to account might he come back to the ruthless, brilliant Antarctica he had been?  A creeping worry that he had only responded to her overtures–as much as he had, which wasn’t much– because of the drugs… _No_.  No he would still be interested: she was after all a peer.

Of course right now Mycroft was very probably still fretting more about his brother than the very real issues of his own drugging. It was unlikely in the extreme that his brother had been drugged–he drugged himself well enough– but the idea that Porlock had been party to drugging Mycroft?  And possibly the rest of them?   _He died too quickly_.  They hadn’t found any traces of drugs in her system, but if she had been drugged it was likely not as chronic as Mycroft’s case…

She looked around one last time at the trappings of a high security, but friendly, briefing: if former Colonel Moran had any questions about why they were meeting at such an unlikely location, the assassination and the rumored mole in their number was excuse enough. She sat down with a cup of tea and waited.

When he was escorted in, she was once again struck by his rather disconcerting mixture of attractiveness and threat. 

“Lady Smallwood.” He said after looking around thoughtfully, “Not really your native environment here…”

“I suppose it was inevitable that you would find out my identity; however the information is classified.” Oh yes, a very good thing she was removing him. Curse Porlock: Mycroft was right that he was smarter than anticipated.

“I’m surprised, frankly, that you were here to handle this personally– it looks like I lost the bet on it.”

 _Something was desperately wrong_. “I… asked for you to be brought to a secure location…”

“So you could have him shot, yes we know!” A cheerful, familiar, impossible voice sang out.  She looked over in disbelief, only to wonder if she’d been dosed with a hallucinogen–Jim Moriarty was walking in with a baby stroller… her hallucination even provided a baby… a baby wearing headphones.

“You win, James, she actually did show up in person.” Moran chuckled and walked over to him.

“You… but you’re DEAD!”

“~No I’m not!~”  Moriarty sang out cheerfully, and then  pulled the infant up from the stroller and  pointed at her for the child, “This is what happens when you think you’re better than everyone, Rosie… “

“She really shouldn’t watch.”

Lady Smallwood looked around–her guards were not merely at a polite remove, they were gone.  She hadn’t made it to Ultra clearance by being stupid: she pulled her personal sidearm and–

There was a sharp report and a sensation almost but not quite like pain… the smell of firearms... She felt the ringing blow up her arm a moment later and looked down at her hand: a small amount of blood and torn skin from where the sidearm had…

Moran had shot the pistol out of her hand.

When she looked up he was already far too close–she barely had time to turn before he grabbed her.

~

Sebastian was impressed that the woman knew any combat skills, but she wasn’t a field agent.  After he had her restrained to the chair he stepped back and commented, “Surprisingly good combat skills.”  He checked his gloves for tears– _no tears, no fingerprints on anything._

“I admit,” James said holding Rosie on his hip and looking up from making silly noises at her, “that I had no idea she had any combat skills at all.” He was dangling her hearing protectors in one hand now that the shooting was over with.

“How did you…” Lady Smallwood was a bit disheveled from his taking her down and securing her to the chair: she looked frightened–which as far as Sebastian was concerned was a good look on her.

“Fake my death?” James laughed, “Easy-peasy… and I’m not such a clichéd villain as to tell you how.”

She looked at Sebastian and back at James, “So he was always one of yours…”

“Me?” Sebastian shook his head, “No… I went on your assignment to find and kill him… but you should have listened to Antarctica when he told you I was the wrong choice… I never did take well to being betrayed.”

She didn’t bother to answer that, just looked back at James, “We… had previous business dealings…you know my money is good.”

 _And you insult me to my face even now_? Sebastian flexed his hand and listened–James said she had ordered the cover up of her husband’s abuse… it sounded like she was confessing to dealing with Moriarty at least…

“Darling, if it weren’t for the fact that I needed your contacts?  And I knew you would just hire someone else? I wouldn’t have taken your job… Frankly the children you wanted removed were a better class of prostitute than you are–far more honest.” 

He turned back to Rosie, “Wave bye-bye to Love, Rose!”

Rosie waved bye-bye.

James snapped his fingers and one of Lady Smallwood’s guards–the only one who was still around as far as Sebastian knew– came in. “Do get the stroller.”

 _She never denied it, never even tried to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about._ Sebastian watched as James walked out, talking to Rosie about getting ice cream… being followed by a stoic guard pushing a stroller.

“He’s adorable… and he said he hates kids…” Sebastian couldn’t help but smile.

“He put one in a bomb vest and poisoned–”

“Yes I know, we talked about it.” Sebastian shrugged, “Nothing with kids while I’m working for him.” He looked her in the eyes, “I’m rather protective of children, Lady Smallwood.” _And now that he’s gone you’re suddenly willing to talk to me…_

“You SHOT children in Afghanistan!”

 _But not smart enough to be civil, I see._ “Only when I had no choice, and only if they were active combatants–and even then I managed to talk one or two of them down.” Sebastian smiled politely–he felt anything but polite– and went out to get the supplies.

She’d knocked the chair over trying to get loose by the time he got back.

“I’m better at restraints than THAT, Lady Smallwood; even if you got free of the chair you wouldn’t be going anywhere.” He set her chair upright again and started setting up the explosive.

“I can pay you far more than he–”

“He’s not paying me.”

“… What?”

“You think it’s always about money, I suppose. “Sebastian curled his lip, “I would have cheerfully shot you just for you constantly hounding me when I was doing the best work I could, but when I found out that you were deliberately leaking my information?”   He set the timer and looked it over. “If you’d had the courtesy to TELL me I was bait, I could understand it–but you never planned on my surviving… which is why you invited me here to have me shot.”

“He’ll kill you…” She was staring at the bomb and her voice was shaking.

“I doubt it.” Sebastian shrugged, “But you certainly would, and YOU lot are supposed to be better than that.  I was going to shoot you before I left… but you know? First of all you confirmed what James told me about you hiring him to clean up the evidence of trafficking and child abuse–”

“They were prostitutes!  It wasn’t child abuse!”

Sebastian fought back the rage. “… and if I had ANY question about feeling sorry for you? You just erased that.” Sebastian stripped off the latex gloves as he walked out to where James was waiting in a car that looked very official.

“Did you shoot her first?” James asked. Rosamund was napping in her car seat wearing her hearing protectors again–and holding a new toy.

“I was going to…” Sebastian growled, and James just cocked his head.

“First she tried to buy me off,” Sebastian opened and closed his fists, “then she said it wasn’t child abuse because the kids were prostitutes.”

James looked at him thoughtfully, “A lot of people think that.”

“Kids selling themselves–whether they are being forced by a person or the situation– are kids.” Sebastian was trying to calm down– _I want to go back in there and punch her face in_. “And just because someone is a prostitute–of any age– doesn’t mean they aren’t people.”

James stared at him for a moment and then gestured him into the car.  As soon as Sebastian was in and the door closed, the car pulled away–which he had expected.  What he had NOT expected was James grabbing his shirt and crawling onto his lap.

“WE are going straight home and getting you out of those clothes…” James growled and was looking down at him with that look and Sebastian wanted nothing more than to have sex in the back of the car, but Rosie’s car seat was in the way.

“And then I think I would like very much to be fucked…” Sebastian barely noticed the sound of the explosive as James kissed him possessively.

…

Sebastian put Rosie down for a nap–the toys in the room seemed to have multiplied, and there was an educational mobile hanging over the crib– and hurried back out. By the time he got to the bedroom James was stripped down to bare skin, and Sebastian hurried to catch up.

 _Do I ask him why he changed his mind?  If I ask he might change it back_. Sebastian came up and put his arms around James, “Anything in specific?”

“I… it’s been a long time since I…” he sounded just a bit hesitant– _he’d lost some of the urgency since the car, damn it._

“I have an idea… since you’re in such an aggressive mood…” Sebastian lowered his voice and nipped at James’ ear, “how about you get some of that aggression out of your system first and then I can work on making it good for you without… rushing.” He could feel the relief and interest in James body. 

James turned in his arms, “Then YOU, Colonel, should bend your ass over the bed because I want to WRECK you…”

Sebastian smirked, “Gonna make me?” and leaned backwards onto the bed. He made a point of propping himself up on his arms in a way that he KNEW showed off his abs, among other things.

James raised an eyebrow, “Why Colonel… I begin to see why you had ‘insubordinate’ as a complaint on your file…”

“Yup.”

James pounced on him. Sebastian had planned on just letting him have his way, but in very short order they were in some kind of a wrestling match on the bed…

The little fucker was FAST… and vicious, even when he was just playing.

Sebastian could have over powered, or damaged, him of course, but that wasn’t the point, so when James started to take a shot that would have hurt, and pulled his punch, Sebastian fell back and cried ‘uncle’.

After a brief moment of blinking, James grinned and ‘forced’ him down on the bed.

 _Oh hot DAMN he was good at this_ …. Sebastian gave up all pretenses of being forced into anything and just moved under the man’s hands… when James thrust into him–hard and fast– his fingers had already made him desperate enough that the momentary discomfort was outweighed from the start…

“Oh Fuck…”

“It is… what you… wanted…” James almost purred as he fucked Sebastian… somehow Sebastian had one wrist being held behind his back and was having to hold himself up on one arm, but the tension just seemed to add to everything.

He tried to say something snarky and witty but what came out was a growled groan.  He finally managed to tilt his head to give James-who was apparently practicing to be a vampire–better access to his neck and shoulder and got out, “more…”

“As you wish…” and  James let loose.

If Sebastian had been a smaller man, or less muscled, or had  felt cornered or threatened in any but the best and most exciting way, this would have been hell; as it was he was  snarling and roaring and  every other word out of his mouth was “Yes,” and “More” and “God!”

When James finally finished–Sebastian honestly couldn’t tell you when he’d come himself, or how often– he slowly let go of Sebastian’s wrist…

“Did…I hurt you? I… God I didn’t mean to be THAT crazed…”

Sebastian groaned and rolled over… and realized he was bleeding a bit from his shoulder. “Don’t you dare apologize!  That was… that was incredible and if I’d wanted you to stop I would have said something.”  He pulled James down onto his chest.

“I might not have stopped…” James admitted quietly.

“Then I would have stopped you–I’m hardly helpless.”

“I’m a bit upset that I lost control so much… I… you ARE bleeding…”

“I noticed; I don’t care.”  Sebastian wrapped his arms around James more firmly, “although I should go treat it… eventually… human bites are nasty.”

“I don’t WANT to hurt you…”

“So? I suggested you get some of that aggression out and… you did.”  Sebastian grinned at him, “You fight dirty!”

“Always have.”

“It wasn’t a complaint.”

James smiled, “You were letting me hold you down…”

“Yeah? Although once you got started I admit I wasn’t thinking about trying to get loose–excellent tactics.” Sebastian nodded solemnly.

“Oh… of course,” James snickered, “tactics.”  Then he frowned at Sebastian’s shoulder, “Let’s get that cleaned and bandaged… and…I really do want to… but… uh… bad memories–aggression is out.”

“I got that.” Sebastian nodded, “Rough play is fun–if everyone involved thinks it’s fun.  I did suggest that we start this way so we’d both have a bit more patience.”

James pulled him to his feet–tugged on his hand anyway and cleaned him up in the bathroom. “No stitches needed, luckily.”

“I don’t think your teeth are that sharp.”

“I bit one of the people in interrogation–they needed stitches: my teeth are in fact very sharp.”

“That explains the vampire attack on my neck…”

James smirked, “If I wanted your blood I’d use a knife…probably.”

“ooh… ‘probably’?  What kind of vicious nasty sexy things would you do to me, hmm Vampire Moriarty?”

James flashed his teeth in something that might have been called a grin, “Oh… well first I’d have to get you all hot and bothered so you wouldn’t notice anything until it was too late…”

“Checked that box…” Sebastian put on a wide eyed look, “what then?”

James started walking him back to the bed, “Then I’d probably convince you to let me tie you down… so you couldn’t get away….”

“You’d be very persuasive…” Sebastian pulled him down onto the bed and started running his hands over him, watching him arch into it–by this point Sebastian knew exactly where James carried tension…

“hhmmm… yes, I am… and I would be….” James started to melt into it, “And once you were all tied up like a snack for the spider I’d pull out my…” he arched into it as Sebastian started rubbing things that weren’t tense… yet.

“I can think of a few things to pull out…” Sebastian whispered into his ear and started stroking just a bit faster. He was being the big spoon to James’ little spoon and James arching up against him was  very distracting.

“…I’d pull out my knife….” James sighed and didn’t seem at all concerned when Sebastian got a bit of lube for his fingers.

“Would you threaten? Try to scare me? Or…?”

“mmm no… I’d watch you be frightened when you saw the knife… and then…” he gasped as Sebastian inserted a finger and stopped talking…

Sebastian spoke quietly into his ear, “I’m looking up at you with a worried look, alllll tied down and helpless, and you have a knife: now what?”

“I’d…” James looked over his shoulder at him, “You… don’t want to  be on top of me?”

“I feel lazy,” Sebastian said and drew a hand down his chest before starting to stroke at him again, “Besides, I can reach everything just fine.” And you probably won’t feel as trapped.

James settled again, and tilted his head back–Sebastian obligingly started mouthing his neck.

“I’d draw the knife down without marking you, just… let you feel it, and  ask you if you were scared…”

“I would be, but like most men I’d lie and say no I expect…” Sebastian was determined to  have him relaxed and  enjoying things before  he  went further than fingers.

“Ohhh yes…” James gasped as Sebastian hit just the right spot, and then continued, “Fear tends to get a rise out of some men–you caught my attention enough to play with, and not just drain you, so I expect a bit of fear gets you going…”

“Usually does–adrenaline anyway.”  Sebastian experimentally worked a bit harder with his mouth at James shoulder…

“N-nothing… above…” James was breathing hard and moving against Sebastian’s hands.

“Nothing where it shows… of course…” Sebastian knew the marks James had left on him would show if he undid his collar even slightly… but he moved just a hair further away from the collar line on James before he resumed.

“…and then…?” Sebastian prompted.

“I would… just knick you with the blade, just… Ahhh! A bit… more…”

“Was that talking about now or the next time you have me tied to the bed?”

“I… am going to paint my name on you with your own blood!” James said remarkably cogently, “And if you don’t get ON with it, it won’t be fun…”

“Oh so I should get on with it?” he wriggled his fingers and James almost shrieked and arched back into him hard enough to hurt.

“Yes!”  James snarled desperately.

Sebastian made certain there was enough lube and started  slowly, very slowly, working his way in… one hand on James hip and the other stroking him to distraction…  James was making desperate noises–alternating with threats if he didn’t move faster.

Eventually James took charge of the speed by moving back into him and reaching around to try to pull him in… so of course Sebastian obliged.

He was trying to be gentle, and careful, and apparently  James eventually had  enough of that…

“If you don’t move, I swear I will find out if nettles can go in your–”

Sebastian really didn’t want to hear the rest of that threat so he picked up the pace… he was about to suggest rolling over so that he could get a bit more aggressive when James pulled away….

“Lie down, Tiger,” James voice was a growl and a threat and Sebastian lay down on his back… only to have James climb on top of him.

“You’ll have to set the pace, then…” Sebastian gasped as he found himself sheathed in James again…

James pulled Sebastian’s hands onto his hips, “I’m not porcelain…”

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

“I… you won’t.” James leaned down and kissed his nose, “Now if you don’t fuck me after all that teasing…”

“Thistles?” Sebastian laughed…

“I expect better… ‘tactics’… out of you, soldier,” James smirked, “distract me from my nefarious plans.”

Sebastian rolled them both over until James was on the bed and Sebastian could  push himself up, “Right… distract the vampire…” and  he pulled out a bit and thrust–aiming for the perfect spot… judging from the way James arched  and gasped he hit it, too.

After a few more thrusts James got his hands up onto Sebastian’s back and… Sebastian growled happily at the sensation of strong hands, and enough pulling against him to  encourage him to more…

Somehow James got his teeth into Sebastian’s shoulder and was clawing down his back when he came… Sebastian came a moment later…

After he recovered his breath he pulled James up against him and pulled what was left of the bedding around them. “So did I convince the wicked vampire Moriarty to spare my life, hm?”

“I’m tying you to my bed–fuck your sniper skills.” James muttered into his shoulder, “also at least this time you aren’t bleeding, but that’s gonna show…”

“You can’t fuck my sniper skills…” Sebastian laughed, “But…”

“But?”

"After we deal with business tomorrow… and get Rosie tired out enough… I think you need to tie me to the bed, alright…”

James snuggled in against him happily, “I am so glad I didn’t just cut your throat.”

Sebastian stroked his hair back and tucked James’ head into his neck, “Me too.”

 


	16. LadySlipper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a discussion of the ladies...  
> and a very polite drive...

James and Sebastian spent the next day making plans, playing with Rosie, and watching the news reports.  It seemed that a lot of groups had noticed it was open season on intelligence agents in Britain and had picked up the pace–or maybe they just didn’t want to be left behind in getting publicity. The warehouse explosion had gotten notice, of course, but right now was being publicly put down as a construction accident–with no mention of  casualties– although a number of people  were speculating on its association with all the OTHER recent shootings, bombings, and so on.

“The more chaos there is aimed at MI6–or any intelligence or enforcement groups– the better,” James said happily over tea. “Makes it that much harder to pick out a pattern…”

“Well… I would think Sir Edwin and Lady Smallwood would get noticed at a higher level…”

“Oh certainly,” James smiled and waved a toy at Rosie, “but they are both associated with intelligence–she was on the intelligence committee and quite publicly so, unlike Mycroft.”

“Speaking of Mycroft…” Sebastian frowned, “What are we doing about him?  He…look; we’re both interested in the man, but I am TOTALLY not into coercion.”

“We have him picked up… and… keep him out of the way until we’re done?” James frowned.  “I admit I don’t see how any dealings with him work without coercion.”

“Truce by coercion, sure,” Sebastian nodded, “If you want to blackmail or threaten him into leaving us alone? Go right ahead… but…nothing  forcing him into anything personal.”

James put down the toy and stared at him for a few moments before going back to his tea, “you are a very strange man, Tiger.”

“Is that strange?”

“In my experience.”

“Then you hang around with the wrong kind of people.”

James looked off for a moment, “yes… I suppose I always used to: It wasn’t always voluntary, and then later the kind of people who hired me were… well… let’s just say the upright and noble sorts rarely hired me–most of them wouldn’t know how to hire me anyway.”

“So who’s next?” Sebastian looked at the dwindling list of targets.

“Euros, sadly.”

“Sadly?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “seems  long overdue to me.”

“She’s brilliant–the world has too few of us.” James rolled his head back, “but she has to go… I managed to get into ALL of  the records now that everyone is busy… she was having too much fun playing with people…. It’s… it’s gotten too widespread.  I mean…it’s a matter of time before she causes a major war, or widespread catastrophe…”

“I thought she was catatonic?” Sebastian frowned.

“Well, as far as I can tell she is, but… look: if she IS catatonic, it’s likely because she’s been drugged–in which case she might recover; if she ISN’T catatonic then it’s an act and she’s still up to things.”

“True.” Sebastian considered, “So if she’s NOT catatonic then she’s holed up in this Sherringford…”

“Yes, but if she isn’t catatonic she’ll be going out–she’d get bored in the prison now that she has a taste for working hands on.  I want you set up near Sherringford with a sniper scope: if she’s traveling you can get her going out or coming in… she won’t expect it at all.”

“Where are YOU going to be?” Sebastian asked suspiciously.

“we’ll give her a couple of days and if she doesn’t come out? I’m going to go in and talk to her… “

“No way.”

“If she’s catatonic she won’t come out,” James said very reasonably, “and she also won’t be dangerous.”

“Then I come in with you–I can be supposedly guarding you or something.”

 James frowned, “But if she IS awake, and gets her hooks into you…”

“If she’s awake and she gets her hooks into YOU, then what?”

James got up and paced, “I’m at least somewhat resistant–especially since she hasn’t been able to prepare me with drugs.”

“And how many  suggestions might be sitting in place waiting for the right  triggers?” Sebastian snorted, “I go with you and if the bitch so much as opens her mouth I shoot her.”

“Maybe…” James stared at him for a while. “Your advantage would be that she doesn’t expect you, but you’d have to be very careful: if a woman you do not know and cannot conclusively identify comes up and tries to talk to you? Just kill her–don’t ask questions, don’t hesitate.”

“Uh… wouldn’t it be better if I saw at least a photo?”

“She’s GOOD at disguise work–she’s not me, mind you– so… anyone even close? Kill them.”  James went over and brought back his computer pad, “Here.”

Sebastian looked at photos of a bedraggled woman in a cell, at a photo of a pleasantly bohemian woman at a bus stop, and at a photo of a professional woman in a suit… “THESE are all her?”

James nodded, “Look at the jawline and eyes–the only thing she does to change her eyes is wear glasses.”

Sebastian whistled, “Okay… maybe I should study the pictures of the women–like this Molly person?– who are  known, so I don’t shoot them by accident.”

James blinked at him, “Oh… right… well she doesn’t look anything like Molly, luckily.”  Jim pulled up a few photos, “here are the other women that matter… errr… well that I dealt with–other than Mrs. Hudson: you’ve met her.”

Sebastian stared at a photo of Jim and a small brunette in medical clothes…”That’s Molly? She’s cute…”

“is she?” James leaned over and looked at her thoughtfully, “I guess?  Anyway she’s annoyingly hung up on Sherlock–should I say she was when I dealt with her– and a complete doormat: she may as well have an abusive boyfriend welcome mat stenciled on her.”

“Ouch.”  Sebastian looked at the next photo, “who’s this?”

“Mycroft’s PA?  She used the name Anthea–I think her name was Jane or something– and she observed my interrogation sometimes. She’s not in Holmes league but… sharp.”

“Uh huh… and…” Sebastian’s eyebrows tried to crawl off the top of his head, “ok, I know her from TC’s blog description: that HAS to be Irene.”

“Yeah–she’s a bitch, but smart and useful.”  James sighed, “I hate her guts–the feeling is totally mutual– and she sells information and influence to the highest bidder… if she shows up feel free to shoot her too.” James narrowed his eyes, “If you sleep with her, not only is our relationship OVER but I will shoot you. I don’t care if you sleep with a girl–as long as you talk to me first– but that isn’t a girl: that’s a viper in heels.”

Sebastian chuckled, “Tell me how you REALLY feel… okay, no wonder John liked her.”

“What?”

“We share a type.”

“Irene?!  Is your TYPE?!”

“Good looking, intelligent, dangerous, and a bit crazy? Yeah…” Sebastian let his eyes run over James, “Didn’t you notice?”

James slowly settled back and then smiled, “Yeah, well she’s treacherous and I’m loyal…”

“Right; which is why she isn’t a temptation.” Sebastian waved at the photo “So did she work for Magnusson?”

“Sometimes, but not often: she didn’t like working FOR anyone and Magnusson didn’t like partners.”

“Ah.”

“I helped her play with the Holmes boys a bit…”

“Thought you two hated each other?”

“We do.” James shrugged, “if I only did business with people I LIKED…”

“Point.” Sebastian sighed, “Am I likely to run into her?”

“I have no idea.” James waved a hand, “but that’s a hard limit.”

Sebastian nodded. “So when do we take care of Euros?”

“As soon as possible, because if she isn’t catatonic then she is going to figure out it’s me– and that she’s next– very, very fast.”

So… take care of Euros and then deal with everything back in London? Won’t Mycroft figure things out?”

James shook his head, “I already made some arrangements…Mycroft has to be taken out of the way or he is GOING to interfere.”

~

Being in one of the debriefing and counter programming centers–and not being one of the people doing the debriefing– was excruciating enough without withdrawal symptoms.  He’d put off  leaving his work for as long as he could, but when  he dropped a file from his hands shaking; his staff staged something of an intervention. He spent the first eight hours at the center being hydrated intravenously and given medication to counter some of the worst symptoms.  

Mycroft wanted nothing more than to leave… but since he had to admit that he also wanted to take his pills and drink heavily he stayed put.

They had the blood test and chemical results from the labs well before he arrived, of course. Watson had been being drugged by an intelligence operative placed at the local pub… as far as the agent knew this was fully sanctioned.  The drugs were indeed in the hypnotic class, and with the observations from both Holmes brothers –and Moran– they were able to elicit pre-keyed triggers quite easily.  It appeared that he had indeed had his general anger and drinking issues enhanced, but had also been specifically keyed to hostility and violence toward Sherlock… and Mycroft.

It was simply less damaging to Mycroft since he wasn’t emotionally attached to the man.

Mycroft had definitely had migraine triggers post-hypnotically implanted, which would lead to him taking his migraine medication which was dosed with hypnotics.  Those migraine triggers were almost certainly from Euros as several of the triggers would normally occur on his way to Sherringford, or before seeing her in any case.  Some of the triggers for migraines however might have been accidental–set in place simply because he was suggestible– since they didn’t seem to suit her interests.

 It seemed his drinking had been encouraged by certain keyed phrases and patterns of thought–or topics– but it was difficult to say whether that happened incidentally– because he was so suggestible– or if it was deliberate.  Sherlock suggested during one of their few joint sessions that some of the people he dealt with– clearly meaning his fellow Ultra clearance– might try to manipulate as a matter of course, and even if they were unaware of his being drugged the end result would be the same…

Porlock had the best odds of having known about Mycroft being drugged, of course, and that had the worrisome concept that Magnusson had known.  Of course they couldn’t be certain how susceptible he had been for how long–too many changes in personnel in the MI6 pharmacy and of course Porlock was dead.

Sherlock appeared to be in the best shape as far as influencing went, although the deprogramming experts were fairly convinced that he had been influenced to relapse–they admitted that was a difficult thing to determine.  It was clear that he was in need of therapy… and the issue with both Sherlock and himself was that they were extremely difficult patients.

…

He’d been quietly going mad–err… dealing with matters– at the center for three days when  a courier came to deliver the news  that Lady Smallwood had been murdered.

 _I should be upset, shouldn’t I?_   Mycroft considered: in truth his main response was that it meant he could escape back to London as he would be needed.

“How did she die?”  Mycroft asked as he packed.

“Bomb, sir… she apparently had voluntarily gone to a warehouse–we presume for a meeting–and her guards were killed.”

“Her guards were… killed before the bomb?”

“Yes sir, found with cut throats mostly… she was…” he hesitated, “the forensics say she was alive and likely conscious, restrained to a chair, and seated in front of the bomb when it went off.”

Mycroft was placed into a very unofficial looking secure armored car with files to read, while the courier was driven off more publicly to draw anyone off that might be following.  Mycroft read the forensic report: no evidence of drugs in her system, and minimal damage–mostly consistent with being disarmed and restrained. _That… didn’t sound right.  A single shot to the head? Certainly.  Tortured for information? They all were trained to expect it… The bomb being used to cover up evidence made sense… but leaving her alive and restrained to wait for it? That was personal…_

There were a number of groups that would want her dead,  but the number that would NOT torture her or interrogate her for information first?  Much smaller… MUCH smaller.

He re-read the file again… she had a wound to her hand, and her personal sidearm had been found…it had been shot out of her hand at close range…

There was one notable individual who had a great deal of personal animosity toward Lady Smallwood, and that kind of marksmanship: Sebastian Moran.

Mycroft frowned and went over Sebastian Moran’s file in his mind: _inadequate information_.  He went over his own experiences with the man: Sebastian Moran had been notably helpful toward John Watson, and somewhat toward Sherlock… and even toward himself.  He had shown concern at taking responsibility for young Rosamund but had been very solemn about his responsibility…

Mycroft replayed Sherlock’s assessment of the man prior to meeting him: “He is unusually willing and able to kill, even at close range and personally.... I would suspect he divides the world into people he is loyal to and everyone else, and if you fall into the ‘everyone else’ then he’s quite capable of killing you.”

Sebastian Moran was most definitely NOT loyal to Lady Smallwood–he’d made that quite clear.  The question became: _was he working for or with anyone else, and… had he truthfully decided that Mycroft wasn’t entirely culpable?_

Young Rosamund was likely quite safe with him, but arresting him could endanger her… Mycroft was considering how to manage this when he realized that the car was not merely taking a circuitous route toward London–it wasn’t going there at all.

He touched the intercom. “Circuitous is one thing; this is another.”

“Yes, sir,” the driver agreed, “You’re being kidnapped.”

Mycroft stared at the intercom in disbelief.  He slowly considered the doors–as was typical with this  type of secure transport the doors could be locked down to prevent a passenger leaving– he slowly tracked back to the intercom, “I… am being kidnapped… “

“Yes, sir.  The tea, water and food stuffs in the refrigerator are quite safe–and not drugged– and you will not be harmed as long as you cooperate.”

Mycroft was beginning to wonder if he had already been drugged–this was surreal– “An unusually polite kidnapping.  I don’t suppose you would tell me who exactly is having me kidnapped?”

“Certainly sir: Mister Moriarty’s heir…”

 


	17. Poppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans~ Mycroft~ and meanwhile with Sherlock and John...  
> "Prada!"

James walked in to where Sebastian was packing his sniper rifle. “Just had it confirmed that the Iceman has been put on ice.”

“So they’ll be missing Mycroft Holmes, on top of the death of Lady Smallwood?”

James nodded cheerfully, “Which if I recall correctly leaves it down to Garvie and Montrose.”

“Bland Man with issues, and the one I haven’t met,” Sebastian nodded. “So are John and Sherlock going to be back in time to take Rosie home?  Or are we taking her with us to Sherringford.”

James blinked, “oh… uh… I… am NOT used to planning around a child…”

Sebastian walked over and kissed him, “luckily I considered that: I found a charming cottage for rent not far from the prison and two gay men and their baby girl will set tongues wagging… but they won’t suspect what we’re REALLY doing.”

“Retiring ruined me…” James smiled and kissed him back, “I take it you’ll be bird watching or something?”

“Yup.  We studied it as a cover for sniping anyway–explains the tripods and the equipment bag… and I can take actual pictures.  Can you fake being into photography?”

“Probably not, but I don’t need to fake being into the plants–I learned a LOT of botany… and I can visit some of the gardens nearby if there are any?  I sketch a bit… maybe I should take a sketchbook?”

They weren’t even certain anyone knew Mycroft was missing by the time they checked into the charming rental cottage just a few miles from Sherringford.

~

Mycroft had to admit this was an admirable prison.  When he first arrived and tried to fight he’d been efficiently restrained, sedated, stripped of anything useful, and fitted with an ankle monitor...

It turned out he had been taken to an exclusive and private sanitarium for patients with psychosis or Alzheimer's. He could declare his position, protest that they should call intelligence, even give specific names at the palace...

…And he got 'humored'  like the rest of the patients.

"Certainly Mister Holmes...” the ridiculously cheerful nurse said as she offered him a blanket, “We’ll call the palace directly after lunch...Can’t interrupt the Queen’s lunch."

Mycroft spent the first day–after he woke up– protesting, trying to escape and to be truthful; panicking.

He fairly quickly determined that most of the staff were trained to deal with combative patients, that all the doors locked very thoroughly and required biometric pass keys, and that as long as he was not violent he could avoid being sedated.

Most of the patients were older, of course, but there was one tragic fellow that was much younger... he was usually not very responsive but occasionally became violent.

Mycroft found himself talking to a very elderly gentleman who would alternate regaling him with tales of his youth in the dirty tricks department during the war...and enlisting him in the escape attempts from "the Jerries".

As long as he was cooperative he was escorted to the cafeteria for meals. Mycroft was fairly certain it was harder to drug him in the cafeteria than when his meals were brought to the room, but in any event it got him some chances to observe...

The plates and utensils were plastic but excellent mimicry of china and flatware; nothing heavy, breakable, or extremely hot was in reach … Ever.

The place had a library...they apparently encouraged reading, but most of the books were of little interest...And no current events news access at all: no news magazines, no internet access, nothing.

Some excellent history books, mind you, but he’d read them already.

The patient escort finally asked him what kind of books he enjoyed, repeatedly changed the subject when told 'politics' and finally steered him to the murder mysteries. Frankly Mycroft was desperate enough to read even that… much to his surprise he found a few series that seemed...at least inoffensive.

Anything to alleviate the boredom.

_What was the goal? Why was he here?_

The only reason he could come up with was a power play by another intelligence agency...or agent...using Moriarty’s heir to do their work...

Or…

It was an attack on his brother Sherlock while he was kept helpless. 

His anxiety levels went up enough that the staff insisted he take his medication at least to sleep.

Luckily that was all they insisted he take–so long as he didn’t appear to be violent or harming himself, and his agitation wasn’t distressing the other patients.  He overheard a few of the staff commenting that he ‘seemed to be having the usual trouble adjusting’.

Definitely a well thought out prison.

~

Sherlock was torn between enjoying his stay in the center and the challenging discussions–it was rare to find anyone who could keep up much less challenge him– and being intensely frustrated that  he couldn’t  distract them away from… anything.

Since it wasn’t certain what aspects of his past had been tampered with or leveraged, he found himself going over his addictions, his relationships–such as they were–and his history looking for key points.  There were obviously a number of them, and most of them were things he disliked discussing, so of course they wanted to discuss them.  The only positive thing was that he was able to spend time with John…

…well and a bit of schadenfreude that his brother was going through much the same.

Three days after Mycroft had joined them a courier came out with some urgent need or another. Sherlock was frankly shocked it had taken them that long to retrieve his brother; they were completely incompetent: sure enough he packed up to leave over the objections of the staff.

“Must you?” Sherlock asked him as he saw him out.

“Yes, Lady Smallwood has been murdered.”

Sherlock frowned–Mycroft was usually far more precise, “Murdered, not assassinated?”

“It appears to have some personal elements.” Mycroft looked at him and glanced back at the building, “I… may ask you to come out and assist.”

Sherlock tried not to sound TOO eager, “well… it is more in my field…”

“Unless it turns out to be purely politics.” Mycroft sighed.

“Well, do try to check in on Rosamund,” Sherlock nodded, “John has been texting Sebastian when he can, but…”

Mycroft made a noise that expressed generalized dismay and grudging agreement and got into the secured car… it was one of the VERY secured cars–the kind that could take a bomb blast–but that made sense given the loss of Lady Smallwood.

…

John–and Sherlock if he was honest (and the debriefing therapists insisted on it)– enjoyed the  times when they could call back and talk to Rosie.  Sometimes it was just a quick voice call, but occasionally they got to Skype.

“She even won over my boyfriend!” Sebastian dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he bounced Rosie on a knee, “He said he hated kids, and after just a couple hours Miss Rosamund here had him wrapped firmly around her little finger.”

John smiled, “well… she’s a charmer.”

“You… uh… I hope you have room TC… He’s gone a bit bonkers with buying her things.”

Sherlock nodded, “that is a new toy she’s chewing on.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, “You have no idea… he takes her out in the new stroller he bought–he thought the old one wobbled– and he’s chatting up all the ladies in the park for baby advice.”

John’s eyes crinkled up, “Well I’ll have to meet him when I get back.”

“Oh definitely… once you dig your way out of the toys, educational mobiles, and so on... luckily I think he’ll keep some here for her visits. “

“Did he have any trouble? It’s…” John cleared his throat, “I don’t mean to cause you any issues Tiger… you and your boyfriend didn’t sign up for extended babysitting…”

“He had a bit of a panic the first time I had to run an errand and he had to change a diaper–ended up calling a girlfriend with a big family for instructions… that was funny.” Sebastian shrugged. “Look, to be honest he had a bit of a fit when I showed up with her on no notice–”

“Understandable.” Sherlock agreed.

“And he was a bit grudging about babysitting her the first time… but like I said; he adores the little princess now,” he turned to Rosie, “Doesn’t he? Who’s our little princess?!”

“Me!” Rosie laughed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “That’s a milestone in development–please make a note!”

John just smiled softly, “Rosie? Are you having fun with… uh…”

Sebastian smiled, “Well it took her a few days to say MY name, but she got my boyfriend right away… Rosie? Who am I?”

“Unna Tigger.”

Sebastian looked smug:  Sherlock and John looked equally stunned.

“Wow.” John shook his head.

“She said Uncle Jim first.” Sebastian laughed, “And oh BOY won’t he let me forget that. Oh, and I’m afraid you’re stuck with him–he says she needs a sassy gay uncle to make sure she looks fabulous.”

“I’m glad…” John sighed, “I’m really sorry about dumping all this on you so suddenly, but… Seb–Tiger–I owe you…”

Sherlock nodded, “We all owe you a great debt:  both for taking care of Rosamund and… well, for pointing things out…”

“Take care of TC for me–that’s a start.” Sebastian nodded. “And John?  Get that”– he covered Rosie’s ears– “bitch” –he uncovered them– “out of your head: Your little girl may have a sassy gay uncle and a Tiger but she needs her dada…” he glanced at Sherlock, “and her papa.”

He was about to sign off when he frowned, “Oh!  Almost forgot:  James and I are… well booking a bit of a holiday.”

“Mrs. Hudson can take Rosie so you can–” John began but Sebastian cut him short.

“No, No!  We’re taking her with us–it’s nice weather and it’ll be fun.  I just wanted to let you know that I’m not at all certain how the cell signal is.”

“You sure? I mean a baby can be a bit…eh…”

Sebastian snickered, “We bought her headphones–like the kind you use for kids at rock concerts? So James can play his music as loud as he wants and we can have alone time without worrying about her waking up.”

John blinked at him, “Tiger…only you, seriously.”

Rosie chose that moment to wave a small shoe–an expensive looking small shoe.

“That… is not one of the shoes we packed.” Sherlock peered at the screen. “Looks expensive.”

“I told you: my boyfriend? Mister ‘I hate kids’ himself?  Has been taking her out shopping….”

“Prada!” Rosie said solemnly.

“Good God…” Sebastian put a hand over his face.

“Prada?” John repeated.

“Designer baby things?” Sherlock smirked, “a waste of money since children invariably ruin them–I hope your boyfriend–James?– is braced for it.”

“She threw a fancy designer shirt on the floor and all he did was tell her she was absolutely right, it didn’t go with her complexion.”

“Uh… he can afford that I hope? I mean… I never expected you to have to re-outfit her…” John was fretting.

“I didn’t expect him to go out and buy out  the entire baby department in London either–heck I didn’t know some of those big names made baby things!” he glanced at Rosie, “But apparently he’s putting designer names on her flashcards or something now… I don’t ask him about his money, but he’s a grown man–supposedly– so it’s his budget.”

Then they had to go back to therapy.  John clearly felt better for having been able to SEE Rosie–and hearing how well she’d won over Sebastian’s boyfriend.

Sherlock kept feeling like there was something he was missing, but… he was too busy to worry about it.

…

Two days after Mycroft left to go back to London Sherlock got a phone call.  He actually got pulled out of therapy to take the call, so it was likely Mycroft and something official.

“Mycroft? What progress?”

“Uh… no, Mister Holmes… I’m… uh… John Garvie: I work with your brother…”

“Equinox?” Sherlock felt his adrenaline kick in as a heat racing up his spine. “What happened to my brother?”

“Well… uh… he… did leave there? To come here? Didn’t he?”

“Yes. A courier came to get him, and he left in a secure transport car… two days ago.”

“Well, uh… he hasn’t gotten here…”

“Obviously or you wouldn’t have asked if he LEFT!”

“… Oh, uh, yes… You sound a great deal like your brother only… more vehement. Uh… well we… we didn’t know he was missing at first since we assumed he was just delayed leaving… uh…”

“Send Anthea–my brother’s former PA– to come pick me up.  If I do not KNOW the driver I will not get into the car, is that clear?”

“Oh!  Oh yes! I suppose if someone replaced the driver… oh that… that would be a very simple way–”

Sherlock hung up and went to pack.

For all his faults Mycroft was  somewhat combat capable, and quite capable of negotiation and manipulation if he bothered:  if he wasn’t killed immediately–and given the value of his information he likely was not– then… he would be trying to escape or hold out until he could be rescued.

Sherlock grimly tried not to think about the condition his brother could be in by now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poppy's have a number of meanings: http://www.flowermeaning.com/poppy-flower-meaning/


	18. Zinnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Jim's ex... ~ and Sherlock makes some deductions...
> 
> NOTE: the second half of this chapter moves FORWARD in time by several days.... when we start NEXT chapter we will be picking up directly after this chapters part 1... and then catching up.

With the exception of the brief respite afforded by the Mrs. Polifax stories; Mycroft was clearly going to die of boredom… Assuming he didn’t throttle one of the terribly cheerful nursing staff first.  They would do almost anything to keep him occupied and comfortable, except their idea of occupied was laughable, and comfortable did NOT include phone or internet or letting him out. He kept being asked if he wanted to engage in various activities: _God no_.  He finally took them up on "gardening" because it seemed the most likely to lead to an escape...

It...Was somewhat possible.

Most of the gardening tools were carefully doled out and accounted for...but if needed he could kill someone with some of them. The only problem being that all but one of the staff seemed sincere in attempting to care for troubled patients and even if Mycroft found it necessary to kill or wound one of them...it wouldn’t get him out, just sedated and restrained.

He made notes of potential avenues of escape–few– and methods of getting word out–also few– and began to increasingly worry....

Sooner or later he would be drugged, tortured, or...

Worse...left here.

~

Sebastian was lying down looking at the routes in and out of Sherringford while James and Rosie set up a blanket nearby–well James did; Rosie mostly supervised.

“Tiger? Tell me again why I have to come out and deal with all this… outside?” James glared at a tree as if it had personally offended him.

“Because if we go out together at least occasionally no one will notice as much when we don’t? What’s wrong now?”

“There are bugs.” James grumbled, “also this sunlight stuff: I’m Irish: I’m not built for it.”

“You put Rosie’s sunscreen on, didn’t you?”

“Of course!  Mine too, you brute.”

“I ASSUMED you put yours on.” Sebastian sighed, “Look… just hang around for a bit and you can take Rosie back to the cottage and complain about the sun…” Sebastian looked over at him, “How can you be THAT interested in plants and flowers and hate the outdoors so much?”

“I don’t hate… ok yes I do.  I hate bugs that I didn’t invite, and plants that itch when I didn’t want them too, and… honestly it’s that sun stuff–I despise sunscreen it makes me sweaty.”

“I’ll be delighted to make you sweaty in a fun fashion once I have the sight lines and windage set up…”

“Ah… speaking of that…” James fidgeted slightly. “My ex? I did mention we might need to work with him?”

“Yesss?”

“I called: he’s coming up–we’ll dress him in your outdoor gear and that way no one knows you weren’t back in the cottage.”

“Does he look like me?”

“Not a bit, but you’re of a height.” James shrugged, “put the same shirts on and a hat and have him hauling a camera bag or pushing a stroller?”

Sebastian nodded–people weren’t that observant.   Then he thought about a potential complication: “Is he going to expect to pick things back up?”

James made choking noises, “No, Tiger: not even slightly–we’re actually completely incompatible.”

“Ah?  Sounds like a good story...  Is he going to make a pass at me?”

“Well he’s bi, has taste, and isn’t blind; so possibly?  But I think he’s mostly chasing girls these days…   what I mean is he’ll probably make a pass at you right up until I threaten to make him eat his intestines…”

“James… what did I say about this?  Clearly negotiated boundaries, and then trust.  If you don’t want me fu–sleeping with– your ex, you talk to me about it and then trust me to keep my word.  If he keeps hitting on me after I say ‘no’ he may get punched though.”

“Fair.” Jim grudgingly admitted. “Well, no: I don’t want you dating, sleeping with, or whatever… my ex.  It would drive me batty–battier.  Seriously, it’s going to be a miracle if we can spend a few days together without me knifing him.”

“No knifing people in front of Rosie…. Does he know about Rosie?”

“Uh… no?”

“Is he okay with kids?”

“Uh… I have no idea?”

“Lovely.” Sebastian sighed, “I insist on talking to him before he would be left anywhere near her!”

“He’s not into kids!”

“That’s good… I’d hate to have to kill him and bury him in multiple unmarked graves.”

“… Did you know how sexy it is when you say things like that?” James smirked and leaned over to kiss his neck.

“Did you know I can’t be on a stake out if you distract me?” he kissed James and shooed him away, “I’ll be back tonight and then that’s the last time you see me for a while unless you come up here.”

James made sure Sebastian had lunch and took Rosie back… Sebastian missed them but honestly he was grateful for some peace and quiet: sniper watches were not meant for chatting… or anything else.

When Sebastian dragged himself back to the cottage later that evening he heard two voices…

“–taking care of a kid? You?  Jimmy, seriously? You threatened to feed one to a Chihuahua once.”

“She’s tolerable–she has good genes anyway, and excellent taste.”

“She’s a baby! Their idea of taste is smearing mashed bananas on their stomachs!” the other man was laughing.

“It’s Rosamund.”

“…wait… what?”

“Watson’s kid.” James said quietly, “With Rosamund? You know…”

“I thought Watson’s wife was Mary?”

“Oh… right… you didn’t know her….”

Sebastian figured startling James was a bad idea. “Honey I’m home!”

“Ha, bloody ha!” James called back. “Come in and meet your double for the next few days.”

Sebastian walked in to find a relatively ordinary looking man with dark hair–although in fairness he did have muscle and he was about Sebastian’s height… “Hi? So you’re James’ ex?”

The man’s eyes widened and he looked Sebastian up and down, “Well, Jimmy… I can’t fault your taste!  First Sherlock and now this?”

James smacked him, “Mine! And hands off, you dog!”

“Well anytime you get tired of him…”

“Did you ever manage to land Sherly locks?”

“God no… as much time as I spent making myself insufferable?  Then I turned into his idiot cheerleader…” the man got a wistful look, “he’s still pretty though.”

Sebastian nodded, “Sherlock?  He’s pretty enough, but he’s TC’s boyfriend, so off limits unless they want to negotiate something.”

“TC?”

“Three Continents Watson–TC for short. I’m Tiger–Sebastian Moran.”

“Phil… Phil Anderson.  How did you meet Jimmy? And you… know Watson?” he glanced at the room that they used for Rosamund, “Well enough to babysit?”

“TC and I have been friends since we both ended up at the same strip joint on leave… and …” he glanced at James, who nodded, “ I met James when I was sent out to investigate someone who ‘looked like’ Jim Moriarty… turns out I was being thrown out as bait.”

Phil shook his head and sat down, “This I have to hear…” he looked Sebastian over again.

“How’s Rosie? And… this is the guy you want to pretend to be me?”  Sebastian looked dubiously at him, “How are you with kids? Rosie is our little princess and I’m pretty protective.”

“I’m still trying to figure out how Jimmy knew Mary Morstan.”

James sighed, “Mary Morstan wasn’t her real name, Phil: she was an assassin– worked pretty much worldwide, did some work for the Iceman, some for me, some for the CIA…”

“Mary? Mary the nurse?  THAT Mary?!”

“Yes.  She was part of AGRA… anyway… Sebastian agreed to watch Rosie while they were off being treated for poisoning…”

 _Ah, so he wasn’t up to speed on things–probably had no idea about Euros_. “I gave my word, and Rosie is my responsibility–and James’– until we hand her back. I am VERY protective of my charges…”

“We…” Phil looked back and forth between the two of them, “Holy fuck,” he breathed, “You? Jimmy? You got gay married and adopted a kid?!  YOU?!”

“We’re not married…” James grumbled, “And I’m not adopting Rosamund: I’m her sassy gay uncle!  I just took her shopping a few times.”

“Well, I need a shower, food, and sleep… and then I have to go back  to a sniper stake out…” he looked Phil over thoughtfully, “James vouches for you but … let me make this VERY clear: anyone hurts James I expect he can defend himself, but if there’s anything left I’ll happily handle it; anyone bothers my Rosie?  They’ll never find enough pieces to identify–and that’s before TC finds out.”

He heard Phil whistle and say, “Jimmy, you have all the luck: can you get them to send one of those after me–”  before he shut the door to the shower.

~

Jim had obviously forgotten what a complete DOG Phil could be…

“Seriously, how did you snare that one?” Phil waved at the door–Sebastian had just left for the morning–and the next few days.

“Pure luck.” Jim sighed and fed Rosie another spoonful of her mashed whatever, “He was supposed to kill me… or verify that I wasn’t really Moriarty… but in actual fact the idiots were using him as bait.”

“He said that.”

“Uh huh… so they successfully managed to leak the information that he had been sent– but not the information that he was disposable– and they had a team following him just WAITING for me…” Jim looked at Phil, “I had dosed him and was trying to decide if I was going to let him wake up to interrogate or not… I mean… he seemed sort of clueless but hot?”

“Clueless?” Phil glanced at the door. ”he didn’t seem clueless?”

“Oh… as a sniper? As a combatant?  Not clueless at all, but he was never trained in spycraft.  He did a VERY obvious double take when I walked in… tried to cover it up with me looking like someone he knew–it was almost funny.”  Jim muttered, “Actually I was insulted that they hadn’t sent anyone better.”

“Ah… but they did send better.” Phil nodded, “So how do you go from that to this?”

“So he’s out cold and I’m dithering because… well...” Jim waved at the door, “Hot?”

“Agreed.”

“And the two pros got the drop on me.”

Phil shook his head. “You are slipping Jimmy.”

“I was RETIRED…” Jim sighed, “but yeah.  Anyway… turned out the Iceman sent along an injector of one of the interrogation chemicals that will kill me–if I was a lookalike they’d interrogate me and if it was me I’d be dead.”

Phil whistled, “Cold… clever, but cold.”

“Well, yeah? It’s the Iceman after all.” Jim shrugged, “Sebastian came out of it while they were  busy murdering me… and… well the first one he took out was the b” –Jim patted Rosie and continued– “woman. She’d been kicking him and complaining about him, so I guess he was awake enough to remember that…”

“So he was REALLY disposable…”

“Yeah, he said he figured they were going to clean HIM up once they were done with me: I’m not sure, the male agent seemed… well she was hostile to him, not the other guy.”  Jim wiped Rosie up and read the directions– _Oh right, put the cloth on his shoulder first and walk her around and stuff._

“So, he took the agents out… and then watched me give myself an epi pen… and we had a VERY brief talk, in which he was waffling between killing me and blaming it all on me, and saying fuck it and … he came down on the side of getting me to my medical.” _Damn, I have to stop saying ‘fuck’ in front of her._

“That ‘luck of the Irish’ thing you got going there is insane,” Phil chuckled, “You should be SO dead.”

“I know.”  Jim looked at him, “he CARRIED me into the medical, and afterwards he helped me get hidden and clean up the bodies and fake a report… and… I have no idea what I did to deserve this but I owe some patron saint, faerie, or devil a shrine.”

“You do… and…” Phil leaned forward, “so you two are obviously fucking…”

Jim rolled his eyes, “tactful, Phil… and try to keep it PG in front of Rosie?”

Phil looked dubiously at Rosie. “No guarantees but I’ll try… so how is he?”

“Limited experience–mostly vanilla, no kink, although he’s willing to try– but all that muscle and body control and a sniper’s patience?” Jim licked his lips, “Oh and he’s bisexual and from his own statement has a sky high sex drive… although I’ve noticed he can substitute sniping and guns for sex.”

Phil glared at him, “You… are a bastard: that’s not fair!  Seriously?”

Jim smirked, “Seriously.  He’s been willing to bottom, but… he certainly is fun the other way too…”

Jim put Rosie into her stroller, “Come on, we have to go out and pretend you’re Sebastian and be seen.”

Phil grumbled, “this is cruelty–really it is.”  But he put on some of Sebastian’s clothes, and a sun hat and got the camera bag.

Jim pulled the photos of Sebastian in ropes up on his phone, “no, Phil: THIS is cruelty…” and he showed him…

“Jimmy…can I at least BORROW him?” Phil whined.

“Nope.”

“You are EVIL, Jimmy!” Phil hissed.

Jim just smirked and pushed the stroller.

~

Two of the five key Ultra clearance intelligence operatives were dead and one more–Mycroft– was missing: Sherlock was trying to get caught up on it all while also trying to find his brother.

Garvie–Equinox– was… well he was very good at paperwork but that wasn’t what they needed right now: he was clearly damaged from his time in prison. Crescent–Lord Montrose– was mostly dealing with the military, and was frankly surly and dismissive of ANY civilian experts… at least he could handle the military issues…although he kept dumping any civilian problems he found on Mycroft’s department, and right now that was Sherlock.

Sherlock poured over the mission statements and reports in the limited time he had between crises. His brother had clearly been faltering for some time, and now with his being missing and the other deaths there were multiple situations coming apart…and no solid leads on Mycroft.

…

It was over three days later that Sherlock was staring at the papers he had pinned to the wall in the situation room–it was the first time in days that Crescent or Equinox hadn’t called in the last hour– and realized what stood out…

Mycroft was MISSING–Mycroft had been very quietly and efficiently kidnapped.

Porlock had been taken out in a very typical fashion for terrorists or military.  

Love?  Love was clearly a personal vendetta. That said the bomb was… it had some of the same elements as certain other bombs… but none of those had the personal element of restraining someone to watch the countdown. 

The lesser MI6 people who had been taken out?  Efficient and brutal, whether by bomb or sniper fire.

Only one was missing: Mycroft.  He didn’t fit the pattern at all…

Sherlock stood up and stared at the pages and strings and started pulling them apart in groups:  personal, and impersonal.

Love was clearly personal, so were some of the lesser MI6 people.   Of the lesser ranks the impersonal ones were… random, but the ones that showed ANY personalization?  They were individuals that had been hostile to Sebastian Moran–even if they didn’t deal with him that directly.

None of the ones who had been pleasant to him had been injured.

It… wasn’t conclusive, but it was suspicious.

A lot of the other incidents appeared to be copycats and people taking advantage of the confusion… but everything personal–and all the sniper work– stopped as soon as Sebastian and his boyfriend left London.

Sherlock didn’t like the answer, but it was fairly certain: Sebastian couldn’t have shot at himself, but his boyfriend could have–and been certain to miss, thus providing him with an ironclad alibi for the death of Sir Edwin. The follow up sniper work–with the same rifle according to ballistics–therefore could NOT have been Sebastian…

…Except only the attack on Sebastian  missed: every other shot from that rifle had been a single shot kill.

It added up too neatly…in fact it had the elegance and… alibi work… that he hadn’t seen since Moriarty.

Facts kept intruding into Sherlock’s consciousness: _Sebastian Moran’s boyfriend was named James–or Uncle Jim to Rosie– and the body double in Wisconsin had been named James…_ If he’d been a very good double? Possibly someone entrusted with managing some of the agents, some of the snipers?  He could have arranged this…

Except… how do you end up with Sebastian going from ‘sent out to kill him’ to getting involved with him?

 _It could be sex, people were stupid about sex._   Sherlock frowned, “No one had known he was a friend of John’s…” how _much else might be unknown in his background?_

His thoughts were interrupted by a call from another of Crescent’s people needing analysis: something they bloody well should be able to handle, as usual– Sherlock handed it to Mycroft’s people in turn: Crescent–or his agents– always bothered Sherlock–or Mycroft– directly with these issues instead of handing it off department to department.  In his more cynical moments he believed both of them– Crescent especially–were TRYING To interrupt him, but that was unlikely.

He went back over the facts once he hung up: _Sebastian was, because of his treatment at MI6 and from the Ultra clearance people who had mismanaged this, primed to switch allegiances–especially if given enough incentive._

He had admitted to killing one agent– Lila– and also admitted that the report  of quietly having tea with James Steersman when they broke in was not accurate…  and he was now back in London with a boyfriend that had not been in ANY report… whose name was James.

Speculation: James Steersman was in fact Moriarty’s body double–possibly more than that–and Sebastian Moran had some prior association with either him directly or with Moriarty’s network...

 _Wait…Steersman_? 

Sherlock frowned and started idly running a computer check in the background while he continued combing through clues to his brother’s abduction.

_Moriarty–from Ó Muircheartaigh–meant navigator… navigator? Steersman?!_

Sherlock sat back and stared… _but it COULDN’T be Moriarty… I SAW him… he was dead… the videos were old…_

 _Body double, possibly more… using a variation on the same name_ … Sherlock shook his head, the details could be found out later.  The facts–for all he couldn’t prove a thing– pointed to Sebastian Moran and … whoever James was… being responsible for all of this.

In which case, did their leaving town and being out of touch have anything to do with Mycroft’s kidnapping? Sherlock nodded: very likely.

_They… could have wanted to interrogate him–pay him back for sending…a lethal drug…that would have killed Jim Moriarty…_

Sherlock shook his head _, it simply isn’t possible: I SAW Jim die._

“Reframe it,” Sherlock muttered, “One piece of data doesn’t fit–try removing it.” _Assume for the moment that somehow, impossibly, Jim Moriarty survived_.  Sherlock tried to picture Moriarty running a flower shop and failed.

 _Flowers_?

He went back in his mind palace over the Skype calls with Sebastian and Rosamund– _bland background rooms that never showed a window view, filled with Rosamund’s expensive new toys and crib… Uncle James NEVER available to be seen or heard… and beautiful flowers in pots or vases in the background…_

_Always flowers…_

_Prada…_

_Designer clothes…_

_Someone with a lot of money and a taste for designer clothes…_

It all kept pointing back to Jim Moriarty, but… he had never showed any concern for children, quite the opposite…

“My boyfriend hated kids…” Sherlock whispered, “Mister ‘I hate kids’ himself has been taking her out shopping…. for Prada… sassy gay uncle… James… perfect alibis and snipers… Oh no… no…”

_Jim Moriarty–or someone so much like him as to be indistinguishable–was alive… and had both Mycroft and Rosamund hostage…_

With shaking hands Sherlock called Sebastian Moran’s number.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Army reports had been like THIS Sebastian would have been a lot less insubordinate.
> 
> (posting early for Mickie- please forgive the rough state of the chapter.)

Sebastian had always had a love/hate relationship with sniper stake outs.  He much preferred the ones where you got in, set up, took the shot and vanished–as he had been doing for the last several–but this was a test of a different skill.  He had been lying in wait at nearly a mile away… without a second to give him the changing windage–he would have to rely on the helicopter landing  markers– for two days… scarcely moving, eating lightly…watching who came and went…

When the military helicopter came it was obvious… interesting? A civilian… well civilian dress… accompanied by people of significant rank… Sebastian focused the  scope.

That was Lord Montrose?  Sebastian recognized him from  the medal ceremony… he’d been in civilian gear then… Ex-military, decorated, but his commanding officer had been unhappy… Sebastian had dug and there were rumors that he’d been offered retirement after he’d ordered a strike that had wiped out a civilian encampment…

One that had harbored terrorists admittedly, but still a civilian location.

 Sebastian didn’t fault him for it–sometimes you had to make those decisions–but… what was he doing here? 

After a few hours they went to leave… and Sebastian stared down the scope…

They had been all men when they arrived, and now there was a military aide who was… Sebastian focused on the woman–blank military expression and hair pulled back, military style glasses…but that? That was Euros Holmes.

Sebastian glanced at the wind sock and the helicopter… they had approached  this way; based on the wind the helicopter would  leave….

Sebastian waited.

When the helicopter was at its most vulnerable–turning with the wind across them–Sebastian fired.

~

Jim was seriously going to murder Phil.

“You CANNOT flirt with anyone, Phil!” he hissed, “First of all we can’t afford anyone getting a good look at you, and secondly we are supposed to be a nice gay couple with a kid!”

“Jimmy… you cannot bring me up here with a baby, not even give me a blow job, and expect me to be celibate!”

“If it was for your entertainment I wouldn’t be paying you!”

“Jimmy… I run most of the business that’s left in England–you don’t pay me, this is a favor!”

“You wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for me!”

“I wouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere with a kid and a fantastic fuck who won’t look at me twice without you!”

There was a throat clearing noise, “Am I interrupting?”

Jim looked over at Sebastian… covered in dirt and leaves and smelling like a hobo, “Thank God you’re back–I was going to kill him if this kept up.”

“Thank God you’re back,” Phil snapped, “I was going to go out, pick up a waitress, and fuck her silly after I tied Jimmy here to the crib!”

“You and what army?”

“I don’t need a–”

Sebastian put a hand–a filthy hand, Jim was pleased to note– over Phil’s mouth. “Phil… can you… just no, okay? I need a shower, and coffee… and I want a celebratory fuck with my boyfriend.”

“Celebratory?” Jim grinned, “Did our little mousey come out of her hole?”

“Yeah, and a few other people besides… and this whole place is going to be CRAWLING with investigators after that helicopter crash.”

Phil–after he spat a few times– asked, “Is that what that noise was?  And there was some kind of siren.”

“Mmm-Hmm.” Sebastian was eyeing him over in a way that made him shiver happily.

Jim smirked, “Phil? Watch Rosie… get back in your own clothes… and I’m gonna take my man into a shower and get… de-briefed.”

~

Jim shoved him in  ahead of him. “Take off a layer of grime first, and then  let me show you how much I have MISSED you, Tiger!”

Sebastian chuckled and dropped the clothes into a plastic bag–no point in leaving too much evidence. “So shall I tell you about it while I…?”

Jim tossed him some soap, “Report solider… “

“Nothing for most of the time– I mean I saw some comings and goings that you’ll want to hear about, and I took some surveillance photos, but nothing major–and then a military chopper arrived with Lord Montrose and some–”

“Lord Montrose?!  He’s part of the group with Porlock and Antarctica…”

“Is he?” Sebastian had to pause as he soaped off his head… oh GOD he loved hot water and soap.

“yes.” And a pair of hands started running over his back….

“Well he arrived and went in with some military escort… but when he came back out there was a woman in military dress with them–no women in the group that went in.”

“ah?” the soapy hands wrapped around him and started ‘helping’ to wash his front.

“Got a good look and surveillance photo–definitely her…”

“And?” fingers started playing lower, and Sebastian groaned…

“And I decided that trying to sort out the target from a helicopter crash would be  nicely obscured–especially if they went into the rocks and water… makes it hard to figure out what happened.”

James spun him around and pushed him against the wall of the shower, “keep talking…” he said as he dropped to his knees and eyed him as if he was a cut of beef.

“I waited until they were making the turn against the wind and took the shot… the pilot never knew what hit him, and he must have fallen against the controls… in any event the loss of control would have crashed them, but they went down hard… they’ll have trouble–” Sebastian cut off as James  did obscene things with his tongue. “Oh God…” _Fuck the military: THIS was how you handed in a report… also this beat hell out of a written commendation…_

James pulled away and looked up with wicked eyes and a smirk, “DO go on, Sebie…” and then the bastard went back to melting his brain.

He tried

Really he did

But after a few more gasped words about rocks, helicopters, and  water currents he gave up and just moaned and growled and  eventually dammed near gave himself a concussion as his head  fell back against the tile.

James got up with a smug look. “Clean up again, Tiger, and we’ll get some food and then we’ll go over that… report…” he chuckled, “in depth.”

“Sir, yes, SIR!” Sebastian said–and meant it.

James sauntered out.

~

Phil left that night after they ate–said he wasn’t about to listen any more to something he wasn’t allowed to participate in.  Jim made a point of thanking him quietly and promised he would eventually get more details of what was going on.

They put Rosie to bed after Phil left–even Phil had had to admit she was cute– and then Jim looked Sebastian up and down thoughtfully…”I think we need another shower, Sebastian…”

He looked puzzled for a moment and then grinned, “Oh absolutely… my turn to soap YOU up this time?

“Well, I figured we would take turns…”

Sebastian pounced on him as soon as they were  undressed. “Once I took the helicopter down…” he said in between biting his way down Jim’s body, “I was mostly thinking about getting you in bed… but a shower is a nice start…”

Jim was gasping for air: Sebastian was in an aggressive mood and so strong… and a part of Jim was panicking bit–old memories– but… he was intent on Jim’s pleasure… none of them had been.  The dichotomy between Sebastian being so strong and aggressive– being unable to  really do anything– and his being so… careful not to damage him, and to make him positively MEWL with pleasure…

The adrenaline was certainly… adding something.

When Sebastian pulled himself back up along Jim’s body–and Jim stopped seeing spots– he nuzzled Jim’s neck like a giant cat. A giant cat that could tear me apart if he wanted to…

Thank God he doesn’t want to.

“My turn…” Jim pushed Sebastian up against the shower wall and smiled– _well there’s more than one way to overpower the man_.  He took the man down his throat in one smooth stroke and pulled back… Sebastian made a noise halfway between a moan and a growl.

“Put your hands behind your back, darling… you aren’t in control of this ride…”

Sebastian did.  Jim felt a bit more secure almost immediately and then he went back to making Sebastian make those terribly interesting sounds… the ones that drove Phil up the wall.

Although the ‘safe threat’ of an aggressive Sebastian was definitely worth exploring a bit more…

Jim went back to work: a litany of “oh God!” and growls, and pleas, and “fuck!” poured out of the man until Jim  decided he was getting a bit water logged and picked up the pace.

Sebastian followed him happily to the bedroom.

The blow job had taken a lot of the aggression out of him, so Jim suggested, ”Care to play with ropes again Tiger?”

“You packed ropes?” and didn’t his ears prick up and his tail swish at THAT!  

For that matter; did his dick twitch? The man’s stamina was insane. “What can I say, I believe in being prepared…”

“I… could REALLY get into this kind of handing in a report… and this kind of commendation… sir.”

Jim chuckled and got out the ropes.  Sadly the bed wasn’t set up for anchor points, but with the right kind of ties you didn’t need any. 

In short order Jim had him immobilized and then? Well just because his own sex drive wasn’t as high didn’t mean he couldn’t use his hands, or his mouth on someone.  He enjoyed immensely reducing Sebastian to very sincere pleas and promises… and begging… lots of begging… _Honestly this was better than the sex itself–having someone like this coming undone under me._

Jim kept toying with him until the promises and pleas became incoherent, and the noises he made were more suited to an animal than a human being.

By dawn Sebastian looked duly tame and mostly lay about like a big cat and purred.

By mid-morning Jim faked a twisted ankle and by early lunch they had a nice public discussion while out with Rosie about whether they should cut their vacation short or not; what with sunburn and a twisted ankle and ‘Rose not being well’–she was fine of course–and decided they probably should.

After a lot of last photographs and thank yous  they packed up and started making their way back toward London.

“I suppose I’ll have to send someone to rescue Mycroft.” Jim sighed.

“It didn’t seem like he would need rescue?”

“Oh honey… just because he isn’t an adrenaline junkie like SOME people… there’s NOTHING to occupy him enough– another week and he’d confess to heading up secret plots by the Queen’s corgis just to get out of there.”

Sebastian snickered.

Sebastian’s phone rang and Jim glanced at it. “Sherlock’s calling you?”

Sebastian pulled over and called him back–at Jim’s nod he put it on speaker.

“Sebastian…” Sherlock’s voice sounded tense, “How… uh… how is Rosie?”

“Hmm? She’s fine… We actually cut the vacation a bit short because I got  a bit of sunburn and James twisted his ankle…Is TC back?”

“Ah… no… could… could I come by?”

“I could bring her by the flat?  I mean it wouldn’t be much of a detour… what’s wrong?”

“As it happens my brother is missing–presumed dead by everyone but me, in fact.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at Jim and then said, “That… sounds like one hell of a security issue frankly… but what–”

“To be blunt, Colonel: John wouldn’t care if Mycroft was missing–except in so far as it upset me– but he cares deeply about Rosamund.”

“I’m a bit lost here.”

“There were flower arrangements in the back of almost every skype call; you went on vacation and the sniper attacks stopped and my brother vanished; your boyfriend is NEVER on camera and his name translates to Navigator–so does Moriarty….” Sherlock took a deep breath, “I… I have come close to dying to safeguard John before… and my brother… whatever you want from me just...”

Sebastian stared at the phone and then at him and Jim couldn’t help but wince.  He finally shrugged and mouthed ‘your call’ at Sebastian.

Sebastian took a deep breath, “Sherlock… first and foremost I would NEVER hurt Rosamund, not ever: not even if I hated TC–and the man is like a brother to me– would I hurt Rosie.  She’s currently in the back of the car–I’m on my way back to London, yes, with my boyfriend– and… your brother is safe and sound and just… out of the way a bit while…we took care of something and he might have interfered.”  Sebastian paused and looked at Jim.

Jim rubbed his forehead and sighed, “Hello Sherlock… apparently I missed a lot while I was retired…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, i borrowed this Phil and backstory ( with some minor variations) from my series Dogs and Cats


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's POV and rescue...  
> TW for self-doubt, mental health, and etc  
> (posting early for Mickie)

Mycroft was spending the few hours he was allowed at the piano. He was sadly going to have to risk attempting to escape to save his sanity–what was left of it.

That presumed he hadn’t gone mad already… not exactly a certainty.

He’d found a book of short stories while desperately searching the library for something to read–having run out of the Mrs. Pollifax books they had on hand, and the one book of The Saint series–when the title ‘Rappaccini's Daughter’ caught his eye.  It was… surprisingly well written but the worrisome fact was that the florist in Wisconsin had been called Rappaccini’s Garden…

Referencing a garden full of poisonous, if beautiful, plants.

Mycroft hadn’t had time between finding the notification about Colonel Moran going in to the flower shop, and the disaster, to do much research… but now? While he had no access to most means of research he had his mind and his memory… and the peculiar information that the flower shop run by Moriarty’s lookalike was named for a brilliant mad scientist who grew plants poisonous beyond measure, and had turned his own daughter into a poison maid.

Beautiful, alluring, innocent looking… and deadly.

The facts crystalized in his mind: Moriarty was in fact alive; James Steersman was Moriarty–why Wisconsin was still in question; and Colonel Sebastian Moran was working with him.  Mycroft didn’t often have to explain WHY he drew certain conclusions–people had usually been content that he told them the answers–but since his fall from grace over the matter of Euros he had been doubted…

And grown to doubt himself as well.

Given that he began to tease apart the data that had led to his conclusions.  Chopin seemed conductive to contemplation…

He hadn’t paid much attention to the flower shop manager after his reported death… and even after the Colonel had confirmed that the report had been more creative than factual… he hadn’t paid enough attention.

Not nearly enough…

It would be a blessing to blame it all on the drugs, but Mycroft had to admit that he had developed a certain laziness of attention–most people were so insipid, so predictable…

So until he began looking at the name of the shop he hadn’t looked at the name of the shop manager: James Steersman– James the navigator or pilot– James…Moriarty.  It could have been merely a bit of humor by Moriarty about giving his double a cover name that mirrored his own, but… his other identity had been Richard Brook–Reichenbach–another name where the meaning mattered.

Sebastian Moran had a boyfriend in London–and nothing in his security file about having one– _nothing in his security file about knowing John Watson either, mind you._

His boyfriend’s name was James… like James Steersman, or Jim Moriarty.

By his own statement he had not been sitting politely having tea with James Steersman when the follow up agents broke in–and he admitted to killing one of them: what HAD been going on?

He had been personally selected by Porlock:  Porlock had worked for Moriarty–and Magnusson– so who might he send to investigate a possible Moriarty?  Perhaps someone who knew too much? Who had worked for Moriarty himself? Or had he been the leak of the information that the man was being sent?

So James Steersman _was_ Moriarty–not a lookalike– and either Sebastian Moran worked for him already, or was suborned quickly because of how poorly handled he had been… Mycroft considered the man at the initial interview, and his reactions…No, he had not worked for the man before: suborned then.

 _Moriarty could be incredibly charming when he tried_.  Mycroft remembered the man’s charisma all too well.

And so Moriarty had NOT been dosed with the lethal allergen, but had returned to London with… no… AHEAD of Sebastian Moran.  That would explain the failed sniper attack on the man: establishing his alibi.

…And Sebastian Moran had been in custody when Porlock was killed…  again, establishing an alibi… oh, of course… and  immediately forcing  his targets to split up.

Mycroft nodded slowly to himself: all of our security increased, but  at the same time we were far too busy to worry about a failed operation, a sniper who *couldn’t possibly* be responsible for any of the following assassinations, or the continued existence of Moriarty. 

As he prepared for bed he wondered why Moriarty had left him alive… Porlock had been killed first–a moment of thought made the reasons obvious– then Love… _but I was kidnapped and sent…_

_Here._

So was this the opening torment before something new? Or was he intended to go slowly mad here… forgotten, presumed dead…

And what would Moriarty do to Sherlock?

Mycroft didn’t sleep well that night.

He spent the next day distracted with worry–would remaining here safeguard Sherlock?  Or was  it already too late?  Unquestionably the concern over his brother’s fate was part of the torture he was being subjected to…

The odd thing about it all was the… he would expect Moriarty to gloat, to be here as one of the aides or a doctor… for his reaction to be seen as ‘proof’ that he was mad.

It COULD be Euros…she had mimicked Moriarty before with the images and his recordings… she would find it amusing to lock him up here, no question…but…she would be even MORE likely to be here as a doctor,  to be the last person he saw before they destroyed his mind with drugs…

When one of the guards–they didn’t call them that but they were– came up to him and touched his shoulder he realized that this was it…

As he was escorted away he hoped  he would at least find out which of them was behind it before… whatever was going to happen to him …

 _Sherlock_?!

Sherlock was there with… with some of the security staff from his office. “Every single one of you should be thrown out of the medical profession!” Sherlock was furious–and frightened– and snarling at the senior staff.

“I… most dearly hope they haven’t decided to drug me into compliance and I am ACTUALLY seeing you?” Mycroft struggled to keep his voice steady.

Sherlock strode across the room and put both hands on his shoulders–Mycroft startled badly and then… fingers, precisely those of a violinist, and shaking; the smell of cigarettes and violin rosin, not drugs, in his coat and… coffee? Not tea…

Mycroft tried to make it look as though he were merely hugging his brother and not collapsing on him, but Sherlock would know better. “You’re safe… you’re real… I was so worried about you…”

“About me?” Sherlock stared at him–under slept, and too much caffeine and…

“You can’t smoke while you are using patches!” Mycroft sputtered at him.

A corner of Sherlock’s lip quirked up, and then he actually hugged him. “I was worried.”

“Please tell me you brought a suit?”

Sherlock shook his head, “I… thought getting to you was a bit more an immediate concern…”

“Indeed.” Mycroft took a deep breath, “It was indeed…can we please get this ankle monitor off and get me out of here?  And what has been happening?”

Sherlock snapped orders at… _my staff… ah_ , and there was a blur of frantic apologies, “but his medical records were all–” and so on… Mycroft  didn’t care and he ended up having a bit of a collapse in the privacy of the car while the final paperwork to secure his release–and verify what he had been given– was dealt with.

Sherlock finally got into the back with him and closed the partition.

“I’m glad you brought the car that can’t seal us in…” Mycroft kept his hands in his lap and tried to pretend everything was alright.

“That’s how you were taken, of course…” Sherlock nodded.  He reached out and put a hand over Mycroft’s. “I…I tried… I couldn’t find you.”

“But you did?”

“No…” Sherlock shook his head, “no I didn’t…I… deduced that Sebastian was… working with James Steersman–at least– and they had been responsible… and they had Rosie… I …”

“You called to trade yourself.”

“Yes.”

Mycroft frowned, “but you’re here…”

“James is–”

“Moriarty; he must have been.” Mycroft nodded. “I couldn’t quite manage all the details but he established Moran’s alibi quite well…”

Sherlock smiled again faintly, “It took me quite a bit of time to realize it–you always were the smarter one.”

“Not nearly smart enough… so… how do you end up here?”

“Jim…Sebastian said you had merely been put aside while they dealt with something and Moriarty…” he swallowed oddly, “He said he hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything in Britain during his ‘retirement’ and that… he expected to have a rather lengthy chat about certain things…later.  Then he told me where to go and what I would need to… “

“To?”

“He said you would need rescue and that I would have to bring official paperwork and back up… he was quite explicit as to what I would need… and… he… uh... insisted I deliver a message.”

Mycroft was trying to make sense of it… Sherlock had been simply TOLD where he was?  A message?  Would the car explode after?  Would Sherlock be killed in front of him?  He licked his lips, “what message?”

Sherlock tilted his head back and recited, “One of the worst parts of my interrogation was the boredom… and the waiting… wondering how much it would hurt, and what they would try next, and whether they would simply kill me…it seemed fair.” 

Sherlock took a deep breath, “I… found out what they needed you out of the way for–I received a call as I was on route here: A helicopter carrying Crescent and several military personnel crashed upon leaving Sherringford–I had not been told he was going to Sherringford.  I insisted that someone check Euros’ status immediately… and…”

“She was on the helicopter, of course…although I doubt they would admit it.”  Mycroft stared at him… “Sebastian…told us…about the drugs… his suspicions…it doesn’t quite make sense, though…”

“I don’t know…” Sherlock shook his head. “it doesn’t make sense that you were not killed, or injured–the only drugs they gave you were sedatives if I believe their records–and Sebastian was quite firm about Rosie’s safety…”

Someone delivered his umbrella and the car pulled away from a terribly pleasant hell. Sherlock held his hand–as he hadn’t since they were children– and very considerately didn’t mention how much it trembled.

Euros was likely dead… Lord Montrose as well–and he shouldn’t have had any contact with Euros, but of course he did. A helicopter crash would slow the investigation; especially if it crashed into the water and rocks as seemed probable.

He had been gotten ‘out of the way’ in a fashion that Moriarty considered ‘fair’ while they arranged that–and… took care of Rosamund?  Mycroft shook that thought away for the moment.

Why would Moriarty want her dead?  She had… helped…no… she had SHAPED his choices…

“I should never have introduced them.”

“No, you shouldn’t have… but… you were far more affected than anyone knew.”

“She must have drastically shaped his choices… but… he simply walked away? Retired?” Mycroft’s voice rose, “to a flower shop? In Wisconsin?!”

“That part made no sense to me either,” Sherlock sighed, “I… I hope I can get some kind of explanation.”

“So what now?”

“Err… Moriarty said I should take you home and let you get into one of your suits… and uh…”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, “…’uh’ what?”

Sherlock looked distinctly uncomfortable. “He always had that peculiarly flirtatious tone… he said to tell you he thought you looked fetching in the ‘hunt pattern one’–whatever that means– if you still had it.”

Mycroft had a nearly dizzying flashback to Moriarty spreading his arms out in his office and smirking, ‘where do you want me’ after he’d told him he was a Christmas present…

Mycroft cleared his throat. “He always did– flirt, tease, what have you–he did with me even in interrogation, on the few times I saw him before… before the end.”

“I would have, you know.”  _Handed myself over._

“Never do that… worrying about you was half of the torment.” Mycroft’s hand tightened around Sherlock’s.

Mycroft tried to make his mind work–to deduce the rest–but he felt empty and… all that occupied his mind for the drive home was that Sherlock was safe…

And getting out of these accursed clothes that smelled like the wrong detergent and creeping insanity.


	21. Bouquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a Bouquet is just a gathering of flowers... or in this case: people.  
> Everyone finally gets together (part 1)

Sebastian had scouted the location, and James had as well, but he still insisted on going in with Rosamund first.

“It looks like they’re playing straight, but…”

James kissed him, “You don’t have to tell me twice, Tiger.”  Then he fussed at Rosie’s clothes and shoes, and whispered in her ear–she giggled.

“You are REALLY good with her…”

“Maybe I just don’t like boy children?” James shrugged, “Or maybe this one is better than most–anyway let’s get this going, shall we?”

Sebastian got far too many baby things loaded and went off to Baker Street.  He arrived ahead of Mycroft and Sherlock and was setting up some tea when his phone… _John_?

“Hey TC!  How are you doing?”

John hesitated and then said, “I hate it here, the therapists are bastards, and I think… I think it’s doing me a lot of good.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”  Sebastian smiled, “As it happens I’m at Baker Street with Rosie–Sherlock and Mycroft should be arriving soon.”

“You are…?  Ah… hrm… oh!  Mycroft… right!  I was glad to hear  he was found; Sherlock was frantic…he didn’t want me to help– afraid I’d be targeted...”

“Oh… oh no…” Sebastian sighed and looked up at Sherlock and Mycroft came in, “Hang on TC they just got here…”

“Yeah, about that…”

Sebastian looked over to ask and stopped: Mycroft looked like hell.  Oh he wasn’t as obviously in withdrawal–and he had better color–but he looked like this had been a LOT harder on him than Sebastian had dreamed. Sherlock looked like someone who hadn’t been sleeping, or eating properly…

“John?” he said into the phone, “Honestly I think they want a bit of recovery time and privacy… but they’re both here and safe… and… let me call you back in a bit?”

“They’re safe… um… is everything… Ok, Tiger? There’s a–”

 “Sherlock looks like he wasn’t sleeping, eating or–”

“Oh, he was worried about Mycroft and…not that the man deserves his concern, but…”

“I’ll call you back.” Sebastian said firmly and hung up.

Sherlock was walking up to Rosie slowly, like he expected… a trap or something:  Mycroft was looking around and tense…

“I would never do anything to risk Rosamund… seriously.” Sebastian kept his hands in sight.

“She… looks quite well…” Sherlock finally said as he picked her up, “but … uh…”

“Papa!” Rosie said happily at Sherlock, “Dada?  Unna Jim?”

“But nothing!” Sebastian said firmly. “As I told you from the car, Rosie is not, was not, and will never be a hostage.  I was UNEXPECTEDLY asked to  take care of her, and I did.”

“Why is she wearing an outfit with a tiger?” Mycroft asked.

“It’s some designer thing James bought her, and he thought it was cute that it had Tigers because I’m Tiger?”

“Ah… I thought it might be… a clue or something…”

“A clue?” Sebastian shook his head. “There’s no clue or anything.”  Sebastian looked him over again, “You… don’t look well.”

“That was the idea I believe.”

Sebastian shook his head firmly, “I had no idea where you were–other than safe and out of the way– until I heard James tell Sherlock how to go get you… and… he definitely didn’t tell me it would be that bad for you…”

Mycroft’s hand clenched on the umbrella and he opened his mouth and closed it very hard. Sherlock glared at him, “Oh?  After Euros has tampered with all of our minds you didn’t think being subjected to that would be a problem?”

“I didn’t even know where he WAS!” Sebastian protested. “We’d just both agreed not to kill him…”

“Why?” Mycroft said quietly, “Why not immediately? What does Moriarty have planned for me now?”

“Oh brother…” Sebastian sagged into a chair. “First of all, since we weren’t sure if you were taking custody of Rosie back right now… all the notes and records are in the books on the table over there… James decided that your system needed to be improved or something so that’s what all the red ink marks are–”

Rosie chose that moment to reach out and press Sherlock’s nose, which appeared to confuse him. “What?”

“James boops her in the nose, so she booped you–you boop back.” Sebastian explained.

“Boop?” Sherlock asked and Rosie promptly booped him in the nose again, “Boop!” she giggled.

Sebastian got up, walked over to Sherlock holding her, and carefully tapped her on the nose, “Boop.”

“Prada?” she tugged on her outfit.

James’ voice came from the doorway, “Kenzo!”

~

“ken-zo…” Rosie repeated solemnly. “Una Tigger. Ken-zo”

Sherlock had looked over at the door and was staring as though he’d seen a ghost–which in a sense, Jim supposed, he had.  Mycroft didn’t move, but even under the suit– _and he WAS wearing the Hunt pattern one_ –you could see his shoulders tense.

“You’ve lost weight, Mycroft.” Jim commented idly, noting the way the suit hung on him a bit.

“Years of stress will either put weight on you, or take it off…” Mycroft turned slowly and… _he looked like hell._

Jim frowned, “You really should have shot them first thing, but I suppose you didn’t think you could or something…”

“Shot them?  Ah… well, the responsibility for Euros was rather firmly laid at my doorstep–”

Jim watched the man wobble slightly, “Sebastian?  Help Mycroft to a chair, will you?”  He was already moving to do so before Jim finished his sentence.

“So what now?” Sherlock asked quietly. “I… admit I don’t understand why you gave up your hostages, unless we were going to all be–”

Sebastian growled, “Rosie isn’t–and never was–a hostage.”

“Rosamund?” Jim blinked at Sherlock, “weeelllll… I suppose it’s not an unfair thought in my case– usually:  I despise children,” he glanced at Sebastian, “but Princess Rosie seems to be an exception… besides she has good genes.”

Sherlock stared at him in confusion but Mycroft seemed to have kick started his brain: “You… knew her mother?”

“Well we BOTH hired AGRA, didn’t we?” Jim shrugged, “I had no idea she’d gotten involved with Watson, much less married him or anything… but… yes, I hired her–she was  a damn fine knife woman and a good shot.” Jim glanced at Sherlock and grudgingly admitted, “and Johnny boy is actually competent…”

“Something people forget.” Johnny said quietly from right behind Jim.

 _Shit_. “Retiring rotted my brain I swear.” Jim kept his hands in sight and tried to casually not move.

“TC?” Sebastian was looking warily behind him “Please don’t shoot my boyfriend… or Rosie’s Uncle Jim for that matter.”

“Rosie is alright?”

“Don’t tell me you think I would HURT her?!” Sebastian  protested.

“I admit I didn’t know what to think when Sherlock called me… especially… with Moriarty involved.”

“Dada!  Papa! Unna Jim! Unna Tigger! YAY!” Rosie was leaning out in Sherlock’s arms toward … well… _me, but more likely toward Johnny boy behind me_.

“Yes, Princess… Dada and Uncle Jim are right over here, and Uncle Jim doesn’t LIKE having armed men behind him unless they work for him…” Jim kept his voice upbeat.

“I don’t like bomb vests.” John snapped, “And watching Sherlock die right in front of me–”

“Are you STILL on about that? Doesn’t having me tortured even that out just a touch, hmm?” Jim snorted.  “Look, Rosie is fine…she just needed someone to introduce her to better clothing–Sherlock can dress well but he–”

Johnny walked around him– _yes with a pistol in his hand, but at least it wasn’t aimed at my back anymore._ “Tiger… how… uh…” he sighed, “So Rosie was up near Sherringford?”

“Yes.” Sebastian nodded, “At a lovely bed and breakfast–mostly with James: sniper stake outs don’t really work with kids.”

“Explains the sunburn and tan lines…” Johnny took Rosie out of Sherlock’s arms, “You left her with Moriarty?”

“Naturally!” Jim tried to be reasonable, “He wouldn’t let me hire a babysitter because of security concerns–after I got the hang of it we didn’t need one, of course.”

“I TOLD you on the phone… “ Sebastian grumbled, “James had an issue with my showing up unexpectedly with her, but… uh… well, next thing I knew we were hip deep in designer baby things…”

Sherlock looked around slowly, “So… you said.”

Jim walked over to the guest chair and sat down–everyone seemed a bit on edge, maybe lurking in a doorway was a bad idea–“Rosie is our little princess, and has wonderful taste… it must skip a generation because neither you nor her mama were  very stylish, but now she has a sassy gay uncle to introduce her to the finer things in life…”

Mycroft cleared his throat, “You…  Expect to…”

“Of course I’m going to stay involved!” Jim raised an eyebrow, “I have an appointment with one of the best baby photographers in England with her next week! “

“I think I have some say over who my daughter spends time with.” John grumbled.

“Unna  JIM!” Rosie was kicking and holding out her arms.

Sebastian shrugged, “Err… not so much, TC: Rosie adores him.  Also I DID try to warn you that… well, my type hasn’t changed…”

John looked dubious at Jim and then much to Jim’s shock walked over and handed Rosie to Sebastian–who promptly walked over and handed her to Jim: Sherlock and Mycroft looked surprised but John didn’t…

“Intelligent, dangerous, and a bit crazy?” John sighed, “I think you may have gone overboard on the ‘bit crazy’ this time.”

“Didn’t seem so to me…” Sebastian shrugged, “Look, can we all just sit down and have a friendly chat?”

“Can we?” Mycroft asked quietly, “It seems unlikely…”

“Why?” Jim asked… “I died, I retired… I was completely out of all of your business– until you tried to kill me:  I’m not the one causing trouble.” He booped Rosie’s nose, “Am I princess?”

Johnny stared at him, “Haven’t you been killing people all over London?”

“Actually most of that was me…” Sebastian   commented, “And they deserved it…”

~

“Lady Smallwood was tied alive to a chair watching a bomb count down–” Mycroft started to say and then stopped because Sebastian bared his teeth.

“Yeah… and luckily for that–” he glanced at little Rosamund and clearly toned back his language, “Luckily for her that’s all I did. I was GOING to shoot her first until she started in on how prostitutes and sex trafficked kids weren’t ‘people’ and it wasn’t all that bad to have them killed.”

“What?” Sherlock sat forward, “Why would she say that?  Why would she even be talking about that?”

Moriarty smiled pleasantly–the kind of pleasantly that raised the hair on the back of Mycroft’s neck– “oh, well apparently her husband finally got exposed?  Back before I ‘died’ Lady Smallwood hired me to get rid of a lot of evidence of his indiscretions… including the girls, as needed.”

The rote protests died on Mycroft’s lips as Sebastian said rather tersely, “She was kind enough to admit to it– indirectly; after all  ‘they weren’t kids; they were just prostitutes’.”

Watson stared at him, “Did you know ANYTHING about this?!”

“No… or rather… I had reason to suspect her husband had been… that it wasn’t a one-time indiscretion… but I had… no idea about her involvement… or his…” Mycroft stammered out.  “You… Colonel, you heard her admit to it?  Yourself?” he glanced at Moriarty’s superficial expression and shivered.

Sebastian nodded tersely, but Moriarty brought a phone out of his pocket–Watson tensed until he saw what it was– and thumbed through files… “Here we go…”

 

“How did you…” Lady Smallwood’s voice rather distinctly–Mycroft could tell she was stressed and possibly injured.

 “Fake my death?” Moriarty’s sing-song voice, and then he laughed.

Mycroft focused on analyzing: Sherlock did as well… John startled and then started listening more carefully.

“Easy-peasy” Moriarty’s voice continued–there were background noises of a warehouse, and movement… a faint sound of… _Good God was Rosie there_?  Mycroft glanced at Moriarty sitting with Rosamund on his lap– _yes she had been._ “… and I’m not such a clichéd villain as to tell you how.”

Lady Smallwood, asking the question about Moran that Mycroft would have asked: “So he was always one of yours…”

“Me?” Moran’s voice replied–deeper, amused but… violence and excitement just below the surface: “No… I went on your assignment to find and kill him… but you should have listened to Antarctica when he told you I was the wrong choice… I never did take well to being betrayed.”

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock: _as you said_. Sherlock glanced down at his tea and back up: _exactly as I said_. John just nodded slowly and looked up at Sebastian who was holding dangerously still– _clearly Sebastian’s issues with betrayal, and his lethal response, was something John understood._

Elizabeth inhaled shakily and… “We… had previous business dealings…you know my money is good.”

Mycroft frowned: _that could just be the business the government had done with Moriarty…_

 “Darling,” and Moriarty’s voice had dropped to a darker and more malevolent tone, “if it weren’t for the fact that I needed your contacts?  And I knew you would just hire someone else? I wouldn’t have taken your job… Frankly the children you wanted removed were a better class of prostitute than you are–far more honest.” 

And then over Elizabeth’s protests–not protests that she hadn’t hired him to do just that, but attempts to bargain– Moriarty  said: “Wave bye-bye to Love, Rose!”

John and Sherlock both snapped their heads over to Rosie sitting on Moriarty’s lap.

There was a familiar snap of fingers– _Moriarty_ – and the sound of heavier footsteps and Moriarty ordering someone:  “Do get the stroller.”

~

Moriarty turned off the recording. “I took Rosie out of course at that point–Sebastian might have more recordings…”

“No, I didn’t bother.”

“You took my DAUGHTER to assassinate Lady Smallwood?!” John sputtered.

“We couldn’t get a cleared sitter?” Moriarty shrugged, “She had hearing protectors… and she wasn’t in the room after that; she was in the car with me…”

“She didn’t see anything TC,” Tiger said as though that was reassuring, “just waved bye-bye and got taken out to the car…”

John sagged into a chair and covered his eyes, “I knew you were insane Seb, but…”

“Dada!” Rosie sounded unhappy.  There was a set of light footsteps that was eerily familiar and then Rosie was being put in his lap–he put his arms around her and looked up right into Moriarty’s face–at least he wasn’t grinning this time.

“Can you… not loom over me? I seriously still have flashbacks to the pool.”

“Really?”  He looked puzzled but he went over and sat back down, “Sebastian said you would have enjoyed it…”

“I like the adrenaline, not my… not Sherlock being threatened, or the fairly certain concern that I was going to be blown up or shot…” he glanced at Sebastian, “You DIDN’T work for him before?”

“Me? No…” Sebastian shook his head firmly, “I’d mostly heard about it all from your blog and what little you said in your letters… and then the codename lot called me in to be their tethered goat.  Then I met James in Wisconsin…”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Running a Flower Shop?!  It seemed… unlikely.”

“I like them.” Moriarty said defensively, “And Madison was a really nice place… I was … I was RETIRED!”  He raised his voice suddenly in that complete change of affect the way he did… “I was RETIRED and reasonably happy… and I didn’t even read John Watson’s Blog because I was TRYING to stay away from temptation!  I didn’t know anything about you lot that didn’t hit international news!”  He sat back sulkily, “I was retired!”

Rosie very solemnly pressed a finger to her own nose. "Boop...Prada?”

He smiled, just a bit, “No dear, Alexander McQueen tie and my custom tailor… but good guess.”

Mycroft was blinking in a very owlish fashion… for that matter he’d been uncharacteristically quiet and… Tiger had actually had to help him to a chair…

“Mycroft… are you…” he decided to ask Sherlock instead, “They didn’t give him anything or…?”

Moriarty frowned, “They shouldn’t have–unless they had to sedate him.”

“I was already believed to be unstable by my… fellow ‘code name lot’ as Colonel Moran put it… having… having my sanity doubted entirely  in addition to mind numbing boredom and the constant expectation that something rather more permanent was going to happen…”

Moriarty raised an eyebrow, “Sauce for the goose… you did it to me, after all: with the addition of lethal allergies and rather a lot more pain.” 

Rosie chose that moment to make it clear that she needed to be cleaned up. “I… want to know more about this–I had no idea that anything…I obviously didn’t understand a lot that happened at the time… but Rosie needs to be changed.”

Tiger handed him a  piece of expensive luggage disguised as a diaper bag and he started to take her out…

“Sebastian?” John said at the doorway.

 “Yeah?”

“I trust YOU… not that maniac you’re dating–although admittedly it’s been a while since I saw him and… things seem to have changed a bit–so try to keep anyone from starting anything?”

“Basically been doing that…”

John nodded and took Rosie off to get cleaned up, along with her designer tiger clothes and her luxury diaper bag that probably cost more than his rent.

_Uncle… Jim Moriarty… Good God._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosie is wearing this: https://www.childrensalon.com/kenzo-kids-grey-cotton-tiger-dress-246530.html
> 
> some other clothes jim would totally have purchased are here:  
> https://www.childrensalon.com/kate-mack-biscotti-girls-jersey-tulle-dress-248824.html  
> and ESPECIALLY this one with the feathers:  
> https://www.childrensalon.com/the-tiny-universe-girls-black-feather-dress-246252.html


	22. Narcissus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> catching up on how we got here, flirting and innuendo, and then... you did what?!

“Well! That was exciting…” Jim commented to break the uncomfortable silence after John left with Rosie, “Tea?”

“You…” Sherlock rubbed his brow in a very familiar fashion, “Just sit down to tea–again: yes, of course, you ARE mad…”

“You know you look remarkably like Mycroft when you do that? I never saw the resemblance before…”

Sebastian stood up. “I don’t really trust anyone else to make tea except TC… can you all behave if I step into the kitchen and…?”

“I… am not inclined to start anything if he isn’t…” Sherlock said slowly.

“I want answers,” Mycroft sighed, “And I know exactly how very much I won’t get any unless he wants to give them to me: I expect I will get farther with polite discussion than otherwise.”

Jim smirked and crossed an ankle over his knee, “Glad to see your memory is as good as ever, Mycroft… Go on Sebie… oh and see if Mrs. Hudson left any of those lovely baked goods!”

“I could call down and ask her?”

Jim waved and Sebastian went into the kitchen.  Mycroft and Sherlock had one of those silent conversations that  Jim expected was going: ‘ _you ask him_ ’, ‘ _no, YOU ask him_ ’,  and It was SO much fun to watch that Jim just sat there and smiled until they finally rather grumpily looked away from each other.

“So…” Jim cocked his head at Mycroft, “as I said, I was entirely out of the loop until Sebastian arrived to try to kill me…”

Mycroft rubbed his forehead–and the resemblance of body language was really eerie at this point– “All he said was that you were not, in fact, sitting politely to tea when the other two broke in, and that he killed Agent Lila.” He looked up tiredly, “She was a horrible choice for that mission–I never would have sent her.”

“Well, I was rather emphatically not happy with either of them, but she was the one kicking Sebastian–literally.”

John had appeared back in the doorway with Rosie, “What?”

“Sebastian went to make tea.” Jim said pleasantly, “Oh… we were talking about how Sebastian and I actually met–or rather I had just started… a bit in the middle of things really.”

John came over and sat down next to Sherlock, “He… didn’t say what happened.”

“Well… what REALLY happened was that the code name crew successfully leaked enough information that I found out someone was sniffing around after me.  My local agents in Madison–they had no idea who I was, most of them think I have abusive family I’m avoiding–reported that the agent had gone into a Persian restaurant that I happen to frequent.”

 He chuckled and admitted, “I actually thought the agent was getting very close, but it turned out Sebastian just liked the food… anyway, I walked in and he couldn’t have done a more obvious double take if it had been staged!”

Sebastian called in from the kitchen, “I was trying to get away from the harassing phone calls and messages and had gone out to eat some good food, when my target walked in and said hi… I was a bit shocked.”

Jim smiled, “Anyway… we chatted over  dinner–poor boy was clearly out of his depth as an undercover agent, and I was a bit insulted  that they hadn’t sent anyone better, but the more I talked to him the more… well…” Jim looked toward the kitchen, “He was intelligent, if confused, and very good looking… and he did keep giving me a bit of the once over…”

“I can imagine.” John said wincing.

Sebastian started bringing in tea. “I was fairly well convinced this James Steersman couldn’t POSSIBLY be Moriarty: his American accent was flawless and he talked about flower shop stuff… and the restaurant knew him–he provided the table flowers.  So… I was… well when he invited me back to the flower shop–and mentioned he lived above it– I was a bit conflicted.”

“Attracted, and trying to justify it.” Mycroft nodded.

“Basically.” Sebastian shrugged, “Justifying it on the grounds of verifying that it wasn’t him?  Finding out more?  Also getting a good look at this flower shop in case there was anything funny going on.”

“I took him in to the shop, talked flowers, and offered him some tea.  I drugged him,” Jim shrugged, “and I really should have killed him–or had him restrained to interrogate–but…” He took the tea cup Sebastian handed him and his nose crinkled when he smiled, “he was so ~adorably~ out of his depth, but otherwise competent from the way he acted and spoke about things, and quite attractive… I was having my own conflicts.”

“I woke up on a concrete floor–apparently in the basement– with the agent kicking me in the ribs and calling me names.”  Sebastian smiled back at Jim, “With a rolled up towel under my neck.”

“Yes, well,” Jim muttered into his tea, “I’ve gone soft…”

~

Mycroft listened to them talking with increasing puzzlement.  Moriarty seemed… _fond? Of him… They were honestly involved?…  They’d been speaking in their cover identities and Moriarty had drugged him?_ It seemed unlikely, but Mycroft had not been able to figure out how Moriarty suborned the man… _I’d assumed that they had been discussing how much to pay Moran when the agents came in, but…?_

“He didn’t… offer you money?” Mycroft asked hesitantly.

Moriarty snorted and Sebastian rolled his eyes, “She–Lady Smallwood– tried to ‘double what he’s paying you’ and was just as shocked when I pointed out that he wasn’t paying me: NO, Mister Holmes, my loyalties are not for sale.”

John shook his head, “Not that either of us will turn down a paycheck, per se, but… I wouldn’t take your money on principal Mycroft–I expect Sebastian wouldn’t have taken his.”

“Mycroft tried to hire you away from Sherlock?”  Sebastian asked.

Before Mycroft could say anything John laughed and said, “No, he wanted me to spy on Sherlock and report to him.”

Sherlock coughed, “I told him he should have taken the money and split it with me… but he refused.”  He sipped his tea, “so… you woke up? The other agents were there and one was kicking you?”

“One was kicking me: the other one had the courtesy to point out that I was just the stalking goat and besides I had no undercover training.  James was still in character as ‘Moriarty’s body double who didn’t know anything’ and then  the agent  told him he was getting injected with interrogation drugs that the real Moriarty would die from… and there was a bit of a scuffle. I managed to get up while they were distracted.”

Moriarty nodded at Mycroft, “So I had a lethal allergen administered, which I admit was efficient but I’m a tad annoyed.”

Mycroft sat forward, “but…you…” _should be very dead._

Moriarty rolled his eyes. “I have lethal allergies, Mycroft; I keep an Epi-pen handy… but in the meantime Sebastian took down the bi–” he cut off abruptly with a glance at Rosie, “the not nice agent who had been kicking him, and helped me finish taking down the other agent.  Then we had a nice chat while my throat closed up about whether he was delivering my body to you, or getting me to my medical help…”

Doctor Watson interrupted with some specific medical questions about the level of allergy. 

Sebastian shrugged, “He was turning blue even with the epi-pen and the pills; by the time I got him to off the books medical he was unconscious.” He glanced at Mycroft and continued, “It was… iffy as to whether I was going to have a dead Moriarty to blame it all on or… not.”

Mycroft desperately wanted a drink, or his migraine medication, but instead he sipped his tea slowly.

Sebastian continued: “James did make it clear that he understood that was an option… but… I REALLY hated the entire lot of them–and most of MI6–by then…. And… James had had the courtesy to put a towel under my neck and keep my jacket neat: I didn’t think the agents would have bothered, and agent Lila clearly thought killing me would neaten things up.”

He shrugged, “Luckily his medical pulled him through.”

“I was more than slightly bewildered when I woke up…” Moriarty chuckled “THAT I woke up in fact…”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “I can imagine.  You hadn’t discussed much–he didn’t work for you–but you were alive and recovering?  That would be very confusing…”

For no reason Mycroft could quite imagine, John started laughing, “Seriously, Tiger, you better not break up with this one: I don’t know how you would get crazier from here.”

Sebastian laughed and reached over to _hug Moriarty!_ With one arm, “I think I hit my limits, thanks…”

“You never did tell me about your exes–except the masseuse…” Moriarty looked curious, _but didn’t shrug his arm off?!_

“Nah, the masseuse was one of the saner ones…”

“No she wasn’t!” John protested, “You mean Mad Mabel Masseuse?  The lady who threw knives and played darts competitively?  The one who broke a chair over that American’s head?”

“Oh, I told you about that? Well he was rude…”

“She liked knives?” Moriarty visibly perked up, “I owe her a fruit basket and knives then… also you shouldn’t ever see her again.”

Sebastian took a very firm tone. “What did I say about jealousy, James?”

“Discuss limits and trust you…” he grumbled.

Sherlock jerked suddenly, “You had the same discussion with your boyfriend?”

“Hmm?” Sebastian made a puzzled noise and then nodded, “Yes, as I said.”

Mycroft looked over at Sherlock, “What?”

Sherlock was turning faintly pink, “He… uh… was talking to John and myself about… uh… negotiations and relationships.”

“Was he?” Moriarty asked.

“Polyamory, and negotiated relationship boundaries, yes.” Sebastian shrugged, “As TC could probably tell you: I have a very high sex drive… James doesn’t.”

“Sebastian! Do we REALLY have to have this discussion in front of them?!” Moriarty didn’t look that embarrassed, but perhaps he was– _I could never read him properly._

“Why not? I had the same discussion with them…” Sebastian looked puzzled.

Mycroft cleared his throat, “I… don’t believe… uh… that we are in ANY way involved in your… personal relationships… just the… professional business, basically…” and God his face felt hot– _I’m probably turning pink._

“Careful there, Iceman, you look like you might be melting…” Moriarty smirked.

Sebastian said, “Given that everyone here IS potentially involved in our personal business, or we are involved in theirs, I think it’s better to get it all out in the open.”

Sherlock rather warily asked, “You said you and John weren’t…”

“God no!” Watson sputtered.

“TC?  Uh… look, John  and I could end up in bed together if there was at least one girl in between us, but he REALLY isn’t interested in me… and I’m not… I love him like the brother I never had, but I don’t have any interest that way?” Sebastian sounded a bit uncomfortable, but Mycroft could see Sherlock relax. _I do not want to know this much… good God._

Sebastian continued, “Given that you and John are… well… working things out? I already TOLD John that if you two break up– and given a decent waiting period– I might try to pick Sherlock up…” he shrugged at Sherlock, “You’re good looking, but…”

“He did mention,” John patted a coughing Sherlock on the shoulder. “But it’s not really… um…”

Sherlock finally managed to stop choking on his tea, and said, “Then why are we involved in this? I am NOT running off with Jim…”

Moriarty laughed, “Oh, I doubt either of us would throw you out of our bed, Sherl, but … we broke up, remember? Getting back involved would be a bad idea–besides, Sebastian is friends with Johnny boy there and that would be a mess…”

“So why…” Sherlock took a deep breath, “WHY are any of us involved with your personal relationship?”

“Well…” Sebastian started at the same time that Jim said, “It’s very…”

~

After a bit of indecision about who should answer Sebastian went ahead. “First of all because I was giving you two advice, and you need to know where my perspective is coming from.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, “I think in this case we need to stick to business discussions…”

“Not really, Mycroft: I mean I did think you were attractive,” James shrugged casually, “But I admit spending some time in your custody rather dissuaded me at the time–I’m much more of a top and I don’t go in for medical kinks or that kind of pain play…”

Sebastian ended up having to make sure Mycroft could breathe while John was trying to keep Sherlock breathing.  Then Rosie woke up and fussed so James took charge of her while John got everyone more tea and the two Holmes finished spluttering.

“MUST you always… flirt like that?” Sherlock finally asked.

“He… uh… did the same thing when I had him brought in to see Eurus…” Mycroft said, looking anywhere but  at James. Sebastian grinned, _Oh yeah, some interest there…_

“You said I was a Christmas present!  What was I supposed to think?” James protested while trying to settle Rosie.

“Here, let me…” Sebastian took Rosie and checked her over, “Honestly I think she’s just tired… she’d probably be best put down to sleep…”

“Well her original bed is here, but…” James looked dubious, “we could unpack the portable one?”

“I’m sure her old bed will do until you can badger TC into replacing it.” Sebastian sighed.

“What’s wrong with her bed?” John called in from the kitchen.

“James didn’t spend too much money on it?” Sebastian called back.

“Ah.”

Sebastian started walking Rosie back and forth to settle her  and then a thought crossed his mind and he grinned.  “Hey TC?  Are you back from therapy for a couple of days?”

“I have no idea?” John brought out more tea, and some light food. “I got an emergency call and came out… well… because of this mess? Why?”

“I have no objections to watching Rosie for longer–and James did say he has a photography appointment with her–but could you possibly give us a couple days off of babysitting duty?”

James frowned, “Why?  I expect they’ll all be busy what with Crescent having been removed now as well…”

“I do really want to talk about that,” Mycroft said quietly. “as opposed to all this other–”

“James…” Sebastian gave him his best smile, “Can I remind you that there are certain things we CAN’T do while we’re watching Rosie because it would wake her up?”

He could see the exact moment James switched gears to thinking about sex, ropes, and so on by the wicked smirk. “Oh… oh right… Johnny?” James started moving his foot around slowly in a circle. “Could you? I really owe ‘Tiger’ a few thank yous… and I need to go shopping in some stores I don’t think I should take Rosie to… although you never know, some of the bondage shop folks are quite sweet.”

Mycroft flushed pink to the roots of his hair.  Sherlock looked like a deer in headlights; TC just shook his head and took Rosie out of Sebastian’s arms.  “I’d be delighted to catch up with my daughter for a few days… also I’m QUITE sure she’s too young to be exposed to whatever you’re up to.”

Sebastian  tried to go back to business but he was mostly thinking about rope, James, and a complete lack of responsibilities. “So… is there any immediate business beyond: ‘you lot pretend James is still dead, and DO NOT bother us and we’re basically done shooting people on this side of the pond’?”

“Are you?” Mycroft sounded rather hesitant.

James stretched in that eerily serpentine manner he had, “I really would have preferred not to shoot Eurus–well, have Sebastian shoot her– but…”

“Oh she needed to GO.” Sebastian said firmly and then looked at Mycroft and Sherlock. “Look, my condolences on the fact that she was your sister, but… she had to go.”

“Unfortunately true.” Sherlock said quietly and unexpectedly.

Mycroft’s head snapped over at Sherlock–he looked stunned. “You… YOU did it?”

“Someone had to.” Sherlock continued in that same quiet pensive tone, “But I hadn’t been to see her in too long: apparently she was up and walking to go with Lord Montrose… if they hadn’t figured it out already; he would have soon enough.”

“I… thought it was…suspicious, but…our parents thought I did it…”

Sebastian looked at John– _no, just as bewildered as I was_ – and then at James: James looked like he was enlightened, not confused.

“Our parents could tell you didn’t do it,” Sherlock sighed and tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “They still blame you for the rest of it… I still do to an extent, although having a better understanding of how… how manipulative she was… you couldn’t have…”

James had an odd smile playing across his face, “I always said we were the same… No, Mycroft never could have done it: he’s far too soft on his family. Besides, it was all started by Uncle Rudy, and by the time Mycroft would have been able to take any action of his own he’d fallen into a pattern: Mycroft loves patterns.”

“What are we talking about now?” Sebastian finally asked. “John and I are lost here even if the rest of you genius boys seem to be all on the same page.”

Sherlock, not looking at anyone, answered, “I drugged her until she was… safe–until she couldn’t hurt anyone.  She didn’t expect it apparently…”

John’s head snapped over to him, “YOU did?”

Sebastian sat down slowly, “You said Sherlock wasn’t insisting on blood tests or anything…”

“I should have killed her, I suppose, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it…”

Mycroft shook his head, “I… I thought someone had, but… I never suspected you…”

“She was behind so much… Jim… Culverton Smith… and then she directly attacked John…”

James laughed suddenly–everyone startled. “Oh, OH! That’s funny!...  It’s just like Sebastian said: we both got upset because you didn’t want to play with us, but you went running off to play with Johnny Boy, or Victor, or whoever…” James had his hands clasped around his knee and looked quite delighted. “And in BOTH cases you were finally willing to strike back because of a threat to John…that’s so funny…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Narcissus stands for both selfishness and unrequited love, and as such seemed quite appropriate regarding Eurus, and past events

**Author's Note:**

> most of my flower meanings are taken from: http://www.languageofflowers.com/flowermeaning.htm


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